‘Yeah, well .?.?. maybe, you never know,’ she muttered and jumped up to start clearing the table, at which point everyone made appreciative noises, though nobody actually offered to help. In fairness, Damo had started chatting to Dad, who adored keeping up to date about the politics of the cardiac department, and they were both happily engaged in their own bubble.
Ally loitered in the big kitchen, where the range was still throwing out heat and the racing-green cabinets and track lighting gave the space a rich, homely feel. She was peeling the greaseproof paper off the sides of Mum’s stunning baked American cheesecake made from a Mary Berry recipe. The golden top had cracked slightly to reveal the creamy texture underneath; sprinkled with glistening strawberries, it would have graced the most professional setting. Mum really was a stellar housewife and Dad adored her for it. It felt like every single person in the family was wonderful at their lives, except her. She could feel the tears brimming and awkward snot began to drip, making her sniff loudly.
Mum had slipped into the kitchen unnoticed.
‘Oh, darling, Daddy doesn’t mean anything when he’s going on about Francis. He’s such a man, he just thinks it’s all over and forgotten.’
‘It’s not that .?.?.’
It was a bit.
An uncontrollable whoop, like that of a desolate child, rose up in her chest.
‘Come here to me.’ Mum put her arms out and hugged her, as Ally sobbed into the dainty, cashmere-clad shoulder.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry .?.?. I was mean.’
For a moment Ally was on the verge of blurting out the whole saga but knew that she might as well set up a public address system, with speakers facing in all directions. Mum was empathetic, but God, discreet she was not.
‘There, there. Tell Mummy, what’s the matter?’
‘It’s .?.?. it’s .?.?. just everything,’ she gasped.
‘Would you not give Francis another chance, Ally? He’s the right kind of chap, you know – you could have a good life with him. Daddy says he still hasn’t found somebody else, but you know, I wouldn’t hang around. It’s a sad fact, but after the early thirties, girls .?.?. well, they have to be sensible .?.?. time is marching on. You see, I think that’s the problem with you millennials, you expect so much from life and then wonder why you end up disappointed.’
‘It’s not that.’
‘All this stuff about who’s your soulmate and who can find your G-spot. That’s all a load of old rubbish. It’s who’ll take out the bins on a rainy January night and who you can look at across the table after forty years and still be glad they’re there.’
G-spots hadn’t even crossed her mind until Mum had mentioned them, which kind of gave the game away. How was it that someone could be trying so hard to be kind but might aswell have stuck the cheese knife in her guts and twisted it.
‘I’ll think about it, Mum, thanks. Look I’m going to split .?.?. please, just say I’m not well.’
And without waiting for a reply, she grabbed her coat from the hall and fled.
* * *
Outside her apartment, she pulled up the car and blew her nose into a tattered fragment of tissue she’d fished out of her pocket. It wasn’t that she wanted Francis back – or did she? Had she actually been the idiot and was everyone able to see it but her? Maybe Mum was right. Had she simply not tried hard enough?
I mean, he was attractive, objectively speaking. He went to the gym four mornings a week and told her all about the weights he could bench-press – 150 pounds, apparently – which she suspected he was doing to please her, though he never said. She thought back on sex with Francis. Be fair now, she warned herself .?.?. his Tesco underpants (no point in spending money where it won’t be seen), his .?.?. restraint (apart from that one time). But maybe she was the fool that had watched too many episodes ofGame of Thrones, full of savage warriors who flung girls to the ground and ravaged them without a by-your-leave. But that was a dreadful, private fantasy – one you wouldn’t dream of saying out loud to anyone, except Rosemarie, for fear of being cancelled. Obviously. It wasn’tliterallywhat she wanted .?.?. It was just .?.?. were those the only two options?
Chapter 4
The following morning, Ally woke to see the clock showing 8.45 a.m. and panicked, before the whole situation flooded back; this was her first real day as a fired person. Lovely. Not.
She pulled herself out of bed and, by sheer force of will, stepped into the shower and hoped the roar of the stream of water would drown out her thoughts. Still, William’s chiselled face popped into her mind unbidden – what was he doing right now? She found herself trying to envision where he might be – cycling to work, probably, but on what road? She didn’t even know where he lived. She’d take a sneaky peek at his social media, even though she knew that would only fuel her obsession.
She gazed at her row of pastel blouses in the wardrobe. No need for business casuals now, no more black tailored trousers and court shoes. She decided on loose-fitting jeans and a soft grey jumper, conscious that she was dressing for a very different self.
A message pinged on her phone from Rosemarie:
Thinking of you. Rock on??
Which didn’t quite catch her current mood – still, it was sweet to be thought of. Gazing in the mirror, her face lookedback like a blank and featureless blob. Well, there was only one way to fix that: she did her eyebrows, drew on a layer of eyeliner, added two coats of mascara and eyeshadow, and only then did she begin to recognise herself at last. Silver dangly earrings framed her face, and a jangle of bracelets finished her look. She couldn’t face sitting in that apartment, which was quieter than she could ever remember. She had to go out – anywhere – so without any plan in mind, she stepped out onto the street.
* * *
The Owl’s Nest had a few wooden tables outside the window, populated by the smokers and a couple of retired men who were clearly old pals, hardy-looking souls in puffa jackets. Ally exchanged a smile with them and pushed open the door, stepping into the warm, scented hubbub. Clunky floorboards gave the place an old-school feel, and pendant lamps hung from the ceiling, placing it firmly in the hipster zone, even though the customers ranged from elderly couples to mums with buggies and young people immersed in laptops plugged into the wall.
