‘What!’ Ben exclaimed. ‘Why?’
Eleanor shrugged. ‘I don’t know, he said it was too much. Made me look unsophisticated or something. I always used to straighten it.’ She couldn’t look Ben in the eye so she fixed her gaze determinedly on the half-eaten cake in front of her.
‘Really? What an idiot,’ Ben joked, taking a bite of his blueberry muffin. ‘What else did he make you do – change your clothes?’
Eleanor’s face dropped as a memory flashed across her mind, her old brightly coloured wardrobe now full of grey, black and white. Unease sat heavy on her chest but she willed herself back to the present moment.
‘Eleanor, are you OK?’ Ben reached his hand across the table. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that; I was only joking. I didn’t mean anything by it.’ All the calm and lightness seemed to have been sucked from the room.
‘It’s fine, honestly.’ She painfully forced her mouth into a smile. ‘Maybe we should move off exes for a bit, though?’
‘Deal.’ Ben raised his cup in agreement.
He’s a nice guy, Eleanor.
So was Oliver at first …
Stop!
‘So …’ he continued. ‘Sal tells me you’re a UX designer?’
‘I used to be.’ Eleanor settled back into the squashy armchair. ‘Now my job consists mainly of meetings and PowerPoint presentations.’
‘Ah.’ He grinned. ‘Let me guess – you got promoted to management?’
‘You bet.’ She took a long, slow sip of her drink. ‘It’s crazy, isn’t it? You get promoted because you’re good at your job,and then you end up doing everythingbutthe job you were so good at!’
‘I take it you’re not overly enamoured with work right now?’ He laughed.
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘A little,’ he replied kindly. ‘But I totally get it. It’s all stupid corporate bullshit at the end of the day. We’re just the idiots who put up with it, right?’ He winked cheekily at her and Eleanor felt a strange surge of warmth spread through her body.
‘Exactly.’ She felt her cheeks blush as she finished the dregs of her coffee.
‘Can I buy you another?’ He nodded at her empty cup.
Eleanor didn’t even hesitate. ‘That would be lovely, thank you.’
Fin
After a rather jarring series of encounters with his past, the last place Fin expected to find himself was seated at Angela Levy’s kitchen table that very Sunday lunchtime. He had barely been home for an hour after visiting his mother when his phone had rung; foolishly he’d answered, only to be told in no uncertain terms that he would be joining Angela and the girls for lunch the next day. How had she got his number? Which poor soul at the home had she interrogated for his information? It seemed that despite many things changing over the years, Angela Levy’s determination was not one of them.
‘Are you sure I can’t offer you something a little stronger, darling?’ Angela held out two bottles of wine.
Fin tightened his grip around his cup of tea and shook his head. ‘No, I’m all good, thank you.’
‘If you say so.’ She shrugged, opening the bottle of white and pouring herself a generous glass. ‘You don’t mind if I treat myself to one, do you?’ she asked, already placing the glass to her brightly painted lips. Even though Fin had neverparticularly cared for the taste of wine, its alcoholic smell sent waves of longing through him.
‘Absolutely not. You deserve a whole bottle after the feast you’ve made,’ Fin commented, staring at the table, already piled high with nibbles and cold starters.
Angela blushed and waved him away affectionately. ‘Don’t be silly, darling, it’s really nothing. In fact, it’s a pleasure to have people to cook for. Makes a change when it’s usually just little old me to feed.’
‘Yeah, cooking for one isn’t exactly inspiring, is it?’
‘No, it’s not.’ Angela took a large swig of wine and came to join him at the table. ‘That’s why I worry about Eleanor so much. She assures me she’s eating and cooking for herself, but ever since Oliver left she’s practically disappeared before my very eyes.’
Fin shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘I was surprised not to see him at the wedding. She said they had split up.’
