He frowns, watching Lauren leave. ‘Why is everyone in such a bad mood today?’ He waits for me to say something, but I remain quiet. ‘You OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ I say, realising I’m anything but, before rushing to the bathroom and locking the door behind me.
I lean against the wall, struggling to breathe. Why do I feel like this? Why am I crying again?Stop crying, Holly!He’s showing no signs of even remembering we’d made a plan. Angus forgot. I’m that unimportant he forgot. I press my head into my hands, confused. I touch my letter ‘H’ gold pendant that Jamie gave me for my fortieth. I can’t go on without you. I don’t want to be here, Jamie. I sit down on the loo seat and wrap my arms around myself. Breathe, Holly, breathe. I don’t want to go back out there, and pretend everything’s fine. I can’t face Angus. Or Lauren. I can’t face anyone today. I don’t want to be here. I want to be on my own.
‘Holly?’ Angus calls.
I freeze. Go away.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says through the door. ‘Scottie told me. Oh Holly, I’m so sorry I forgot our lunch.’
I remain frozen.
‘Look, I can hardly remember my own name at the moment. My head’s scrambled. Life got in the way.’
Something inside me explodes, and before I know it, I fling open the door. ‘Life’s tough for everyone, Angus, not just you.’
‘I know! I’m sorry,’ he says again. ‘My only excuse is I had another argument with Sophie.’ He stops in his tracks. ‘Have you been crying?’
‘No.’ Self-consciously I dry my eyes, not wanting him to think I’ve been crying over him.
‘She called me that Sunday, about an hour before we were supposed to meet, saying she wouldn’t let me have Benjie for a weekend, that I needed to sort my head out before she can trust me again, blah blah—’
‘She’s right.’
Angus looks taken aback by my tone.
‘If you carry on like this, drowning your sorrows in the pub, and making excuses all the time—’
‘I know. You’re right. But I miss my children. It hurts not seeing them every day.’
‘Welldosomething about it. At least you have a fucking family.’ I raise my voice. ‘You have two beautiful children. Do you know how lucky you are? Jamie and I could never have kids. He’s not here anymore.’
All the colour drains from his face. ‘Holly, I’m—’
‘Stop saying “sorry”. Your words mean nothing, Angus! Scottie’s right. The only person that can help you is you, and if you keep on letting everyone down, you’ll end up a sad lonely old man,’ I predict, before returning to the kitchen, wondering where my courage to speak the truth came from, but realising that felt good. He needed to hear that. And I needed to say it.
As people begin to arrive, Lauren returns, breathless, with the evaporated milk. I convince her to take some painkillers, arguing she’ll be on her feet all afternoon serving. I’m behind on time so Angus offers to help me slice the cake. ‘Sorry, you take it,’ he says, when we both reach for the knife at the same time, our hands touching. I’m acutely aware of how closely we’re standing together. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said,’ he says quietly, so no one can hear, but me. ‘You were right. Can we talk later?’
I nod, before walking over to the stove to make a start on the chocolate sauce. I jump when Angus grabs me by the arm and turns me towards him. ‘I’m sorry, Holly.’
I realise, from the punished look in his eyes, how sincere he is. ‘It’s not me you need to make it up to, Angus,’ I say, gesturing to Scottie, and thinking of his family.
‘I know. We need to swap numbers, so you can at least bollock me next time, if I forget, which I won’t, obviously,’ he stammers, ‘that’s if you want a next time? I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t, but I like you, and I hate you thinking badly of me.’
He walks over to the hatch to take orders, a long queue forming outside the kitchen.
‘You like him back, don’t you?’ says Lauren, who clearly heard every word. ‘I mean,reallylike him.’
‘Not like that, Lauren.’
‘It’salwayslike that.’
I turn to her, confused not only by my feelings, but by her sudden directness. ‘We’re just friends.’
A small smile creeps on to her face. ‘Sure. Friends.’
I glance at Angus again.
