‘Sorry, but we really need to go,’ she says, indicating the departures board.
‘Who’s that?’ Vince barks.
‘No one. Just a minute...’ I turn to the woman. ‘I’m not sure I know you,’ I start.
She frowns. ‘I’m meeting a Kate who’s coming to Scotland with me as my companion?’ A tinkly laugh. ‘Companion. What a silly, old-fashioned word...’
I smile apologetically and move away slightly as Vince rants on: ‘If this is menopause stuff, maybe you should see Dr Kemp? Would that help?’
I’m about to reply,Could Dr Kemp ‘help’ with the fact that I’m expected to do every blasted manual task in the house?But instead I glance back at the woman. She has intelligent pale blue eyes and the kind of refined, mature beauty that’s benefited from good genes and expensive skincare. Under the trench coat she’s wearing slim black trousers, a fine pale grey polo-neck sweater and a simple gold chain. She’s what you’d callput together–effortlessly. I believe some women are genetically programmed to be like that.
I check the departures board, realising I’ll have to hurry if I’m going to catch that Shugbury train.
‘What time d’you get in?’ Vince prompts me. ‘I’ll come and fetch you from the station.’
I’m about to respond but something stops me. ‘Kate?’ The woman is right beside me again, looking a little stressed around the eyes now. ‘I did book you through the agency, didn’t I?’ I blink at her, knowing I should tell her no; I’m not the Kate she’s looking for. Instead, while Vince babbles on, I sense something growing in me: a sense of strength and courage that I haven’t felt for a very long time. In fact, for the briefest moment I could almost be one of those heroic women from Edie’s book as I say, quite calmly, ‘Actually, Vince, I’m not going to catch the Shugbury train.’
‘What?’
Something flickers deep down in my gut. It’s a tiny spark, like when you light a rocket firework and everyone waits at a safe distance for it to go off. And now it’s catching properly, flaring up as I replay Vince saying,You’re good at all that stuff that no one notices, but is actually pretty important.
I’m handy, he meant – in the way that a small stepladder is handy. You don’t have any emotional connection with it. It’s just there when you need it, although you’d rather it was kept out of sight. You certainly don’t want to hang out with your stepladder or take it to bed in the afternoon and have thrilling impromptu sex with it.
The rocket goes off inside me now, shooting high above Euston station and the whole, huge London sky as I realise what I must do.
‘Have you missed it?’ Vince asks. ‘If you run, will you catch it—’
‘No, I haven’t missed it. And I don’t need torun—’
‘I don’t understand!’ he wails.
‘That’s it, Vince,’ I say, sensing a lightness in me as if I too have shot up into the sky where there’s no book to finish or quiches to burn and I’m free to do whatever I want. ‘That’s all there is to understand,’ I tell him. ‘I’m not coming home.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The woman’s name is Alice and the dogs are Martha (long-haired, tan/white) and Penny (russet with a velvety sheen). She tells me this in a rush as soon as I’ve finished my call. ‘We really have to dash now,’ she announces, checking her slim gold watch. ‘Could you take the girls for me?’
‘Erm, yes. Of course...’ Why am I not telling Aliceright nowthat I’m not who she thinks I am?
Obviously, I’m the wrong Kate!
Instead, I take the dogs’ leads and hurry along at her side towards the furthest platform. ‘If there’s one thing I can’t bear,’ she adds, ‘it’sfallingonto a train as it’s about to depart.’
‘Me too,’ I say. She veers abruptly to the right and marches down the ramp towards the train, her immaculate brogues clip-clipping, trench coat flapping in her wake.
‘It starts the whole journey off on the wrong note,’ she says firmly.
‘Yes, it does,’ I agree, somewhat under her spell now, despite the horror of my own situation – the fact that I’ve just told Vince I’m not coming home. So whereamI going? Toward the train, it looks like – although any minute now I’ll have to hand her the dogs’ leads back and say goodbye.
We’ve reached the barrier where Alice fishes her phone from her voluminous leather shoulder bag, and thrusts it at the young man checking tickets. He nods and lets both of us through.
‘Coach G,’ she announces.
‘Right.’ Obediently, I trot along beside her with the dogs. When we reach coach G Alice hops aboard with her suitcase, having shunned my offer to lift it on for her. Naturally, being temporarily in charge of her dogs, I have to climb aboard too.
Alice flashes a relieved smile as she finds her seat at an otherwise deserted table. ‘Settle down now, girls,’ she murmurs to the dachshunds who are fussing around at her feet.
‘So, this train’s going to Glasgow?’ I venture, reading the digital display.
