‘Fucking Max.’ She looks around, taking it all in. ‘FuckingMax!’
Where the dining table, chairs and sofa used to be is one huge patch of bare carpet. Apart from the pictures on the walls and Phoebe’s books stacked on the built-in shelves, the living room is completely empty. Max has left one single wooden chair – a chair Phoebe remembers finding on the street when they first moved in and sanding and painting. But everythingelse is gone. She charges through to the bedroom. The bed frame has gone, the mattress left behind on the floor.
Without thinking, she dials Max’s number. It will be the first time they’ve spoken since he left, but she’s too angry to stop herself. He picks up after a few rings, but she doesn’t let him say anything before cutting in.
‘What – and I mean this deeply – theactual fuck, Max?’
‘Oh, I take it you’re back from work then.’ He does at least sound hesitant, but it does nothing to stop Phoebe’s anger.
‘Where’s all our stuff?’
‘I only took the things that I bought.’ His voice has a righteous tone to it that makes Phoebe’s skin crawl. She can hear someone pottering about in the background. It must be her. The woman Max left her for, the woman he is now living with and who is presumably now sleeping onherbed and sitting onhersofa.
‘You tookeverything.’
‘Well, yes. I did buy everything, remember.’
‘Only because you insisted on “upgrading” all my furniture. I was quite happy with my old IKEA stuff.’ If she thinks about it now, mostly he hadn’t even asked her, just assumed she wouldn’t mind some ratty MDF coffee table being replaced with something modern and expensive, made from glass and brass. And she hadn’t minded, not especially. But that was before she came home to an apartment void of any furniture.
‘I did leave you the mattress.’
‘Oh, well, that’s OK, then.Thank you, Max. Thank you so bloody much for being so generous!’
‘You don’t have to be like this, Phoebe. Some couplesactually manage harmonious break-ups. I always thought that would be us.’
‘Youalwaysthought? So, you’ve been thinking about this for a long time, then?’ Jesus, had their whole relationship been a sham? How could she have been so stupid? She should have kept her promise to herself to not date after Luke.
Max lets out a sigh that reminds her of her conversation with Luca and makes her even more fuming. ‘You know what I mean. I just thought we could handle this in a civilised way.’
‘Right. After you cheated on me, left me and tookall of our fucking furniture.’
From the corner of her eye, Phoebe spies a bottle of gin on the counter. Last night, she had been restrained, sticking only to wine, but now all she wants is to open that bottle. Why is she even bothering to speak to Max? They are over, something that now feels dazzlingly clear.
‘Goodbye, Max,’ she says decisively, hanging up before he can say anything else. She grabs the gin bottle and twists open the lid, taking a swig. It hits the back of her throat, making her cough. But by the second swig, her hands have stopped shaking, a pleasant warmth spreading through her body. She pours herself a large glass, topping it up with tonic and a slice of a lemon she finds at the back of the fridge, which seems fine enough once she’s scraped off the mould. Then she sits down at her single wooden dining chair and drinks it, staring out the window at the street below.
What a fucking day. She takes another long glug of gin. What a fucking week. Her phone buzzes in her pocket. For a second, she wonders if it might be Max, sending some messageabout how grateful she should be that he didn’t take the in-built bookshelves or the oven. But luckily for her phone and her window, it’s not Max.
This is Camilla Ramsgate. I just wanted to let you know that I contacted a local running group after our chat. They seem very welcoming and say they have lots of beginners and people getting back into running like me who do a mix of walking and jogging. I’m going to meet up with them tomorrow. Arabella is delighted. Thanks for giving me the push I needed.
A warm glow spreads its way through Phoebe’s body, and not just because of the gin. After everything that has happened over the past couple of days, the message lifts her up. For all the difficult parts, this right here is why she loves her job. This feeling, which is unlike any other she’s ever experienced. It’s why she sticks at it through everything. Because small moments like this are not actually small at all. They’re huge.
Thankfully, her phone’s autocorrect catches the typos in her own reply before she sends it.
That’s brilliant, well done, Camilla. I can’t wait to hear all about your run.
Camilla Ramsgate’s reply comes in quickly.
Don’t think I’ve forgotten about our deal. I want to hear about your swim too.
Phoebe smiles to herself. She can just picture Camilla’s expression, that same challenging look that had sparkled in her eye when Phoebe promised she would go swimming again if only to encourage Camilla out of her comfort zone. It was alook that was so different to the vacant stare that had been on her face when Phoebe had arrived in her stuffy bedroom.
Before she can send another reply, the doorbell rings sharply, making her jump. When she opens it, there is no one there, but there is a large paper bag resting on the doormat.
‘Hello?’ she calls down the stairs, but the front door has already closed; whoever made the delivery already gone.
She takes the paper bag through to the kitchen and carefully unpacks its contents. Inside is a large box of rigatoni pasta and a jar of home-made arrabbiata sauce, a small bottle of olive oil and a waxed paper package that Phoebe unwraps to reveal several slices of prosciutto and a chunk of Parmesan cheese. Inside a small white tub is a plump ball of juicy burrata. There’s a loaf of crusty bread, a beautiful box of biscotti, and nestled among everything is a bottle of red wine. As she lays the items out on the counter, she notices for the first time the curling text on the front of the bag.Giuglia’s.
CHAPTER 18
