‘I was thinking …’ Her thick-painted eyebrows arched in glee. ‘How about we book a girls’ weekend for my birthday this year? Can you imagine the fun we’d have!’
Eleanor had to shove another mouthful of vegan lasagne into her mouth to avoid screaming out in protest.
‘Freya, you check your diary, make sure you get a weekend where Sam isn’t planning to wine and dine you.’ She winked exaggeratedly. ‘Eleanor, I’ve already got you down as a yes.’
‘What about my calendar! I might have plans,’ she said indignantly.
Her mum reached over and patted her hand. ‘Sweetheart, you’re a newly single thirty-four-year-old. Let’s not kid ourselves, shall we? Plus, you deserve a little sprucing up before we get you back riding that dating horse. Your attendance is a must.’
Eleanor wanted to scream and cry all at once, but she was so shocked the only thing she could manage was dumbfounded silence.
‘Are we all done here?’ Her mother swooped in and gathered the plates from under their noses. ‘I’ll get the dessert.You need fattening up, my little bird.’ She pinched Eleanor’s cheek and skipped over to the sink. ‘Your father always used to tell me that men don’t like bones.’
Freya shuffled over closer to Eleanor. ‘How about I ask Mum if we can make these visits less regular.’ She squeezed her arm supportively.
‘Don’t ask her,’ Eleanor growled. ‘Tellher.’
‘Speaking of calendars,’ her mother called. ‘I won’t see you for a while now, will I, Eleanor sweetheart?’ She appeared all at once with a gigantic apple pie that was placed proudly in the centre of the table.
‘What do you mean?’ Eleanor replied, her stomach already weeping at the thought of consuming any more food.
‘Well, you’ve got Kate’s wedding the weekend of our next Sunday lunch, haven’t you?’
Eleanor froze. How the hell did her mum know about that?
‘It’s the fifteenth, isn’t it?’ her mother continued, serving a pile of steaming pudding into a bowl.
‘Yeah, it is …’ Eleanor’s eyes shifted to Freya, who was already shovelling a spoonful of pie into her mouth.
‘Pass on my best, will you? Oooh, what are you going to wear? Surely nothing of yours fits any more.’ Her mother handed over a bowl that unsurprisingly seemed to be the fullest.
‘I’m … I’m not sure I’m going to go, actually.’
Her mother snatched the bowl back and scowled. ‘What on earth do you mean, you’re not sure you’re going to go?’
Eleanor felt her face flush. She hadn’t told anyone of her plans to skip Kate’s wedding yet and she wasn’t adequately prepared for her mother’s interrogation.
‘It might be strange going by myself. I’m not sure I’m ready for it.’
Her mother slammed her spoon down, sending stewed apples flying across the table. ‘Not ready? Not ready to see your friend of over twenty years get married to the love of her life? Eleanor Ruth, shame on you.’
‘But it will beembarrassing. Turning up alone whilst everyone is there with their partners. It’s too hard.’ Eleanor knew how pathetic she sounded, but she didn’t care. She was sick of everyone assuming that just because she wasn’t curled up in a ball crying every hour of every day miraculously her heartache had vanished.
‘And you think I find it easy turning up to things by myself, do you? You think Ienjoybeing the only one at reunions or dinner parties without a partner? You think Freya relished being the only single one at every family meal before Sam came along?’ Her mother’s voice was getting louder and louder.
Eleanor could feel the shame radiating off her. Every word her mother spoke pricked her with guilt, but at the same time there was a latent anger that refused to subside. ‘You can’t compare me to Freya. She chose to be single.’
‘And what about me? I chose to be by myself, did I?’ Angela stood up abruptly, flinging her shawl over her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry that Oliver hurt you. I’m especially sorry that he managed to fool us into thinking he was actually a nice guy for all those years. But some things in life suck, Eleanor. In fact, most things in life suck, but we have to get on with it or risk not living a life at all. Now, eat your dessert before it gets cold.’
Fin
‘Bloody hell, it’s cold.’ Fin pulled his jacket closer around his body as he stepped out of the taxi and on to the bustling streets of North London. It wasn’t even lunchtime and the sky had already turned a miserable shade of grey. His skin wept at the absence of sun, his mood immediately darker just from looking at the thick blanket of clouds. The flight had been long and fairly uncomfortable. All his body wanted was a warm shower and bed, but he knew he had to fight the jetlag for as long as he could.
‘Welcome back,’ he mumbled to himself, placing the key in the lock and opening the front door.
Rob hadn’t been wrong when he’d warned Fin that his flat might be a little unlived in. Cobwebs hung like candy floss from the corners of the hallway and a fine layer of dust coated every available surface. Still, it was better than haemorrhaging his savings on overpriced accommodation or a soulless Premier Inn. Life as a freelance photographer paid well enough that he had a comfortable amount stashed away for emergencies such as this, but who knew how longhe’d be here for? He couldn’t afford to be careless with his money.
‘Heating … heating … where the hell is the heating?’ He dropped his suitcase on the floor and made his way further into the flat, eyes hungrily searching for the thermostat. ‘Come on, where are you!’ he cried, rubbing his hands together. After twenty minutes of fruitless searching, Fin felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.
