“I didn’t. I just described him.”
“Tall. Dark haired with flecks of grey and an athletic build. Business man and entrepreneur. Brown eyes, cheekbones. I remember. What you didn’t say was that his name was Dave and he’s my ex,” Dot said, through gritted teeth. “Does he know he’s meeting me?”
“He does. He really wanted to see you.”
“Does he think it’s a date?”
“That was how I described it. And given what he’s wearing, he’s dressed for a date,” I said, turning to watch her expression.
“Well, I never,” she said, eyes identical to Owen’s fixed on the poor man coming straight towards us. “He’s not wearing a suit. This must be the first time I’ve seen him in public without a suit on for about ten years.”
“He looks good,” I said, meaning it. Dave was older, but he was attractive and Dot seemed to have remembered this.
“He does. I’ll speak to him. Then I’ll speak to you. And my son because I assume he had something to do with this.”
Dave finally reached us, fiddling with with his collar and looking apprehensive. “I’ll leave you to it,” I said, picking up my wine and slipping off the bar stool. “Hi, Dave.” I gave him an encouraging smile.
“It’s good to see you, Payton. And it’s good to see you too, Dot,” he said. “You look great. I like the shoes.”
I saw her preen from the corner of my eye and slipped away towards the area near the makeshift stage. The usual Chesterfield sofas and tables had been moved, and a microphone had been placed in the centre with a few old school benches for people to sit on if they wished. The lighting had been altered, becoming dimmer, more atmospheric and a large number of people had filtered past the doormen, the chess pieces set for the evening.
“Hey,” a very familiar voice rang from behind me. “Mum’s not killed Dave yet. I’ve just seen them talking.”
I turned around and felt something burst inside me, trickling through every fibre and into every vein. “Hey,” I said, reaching a hand out to touch Owen, needing to feel his warmth on my skin.
He grinned his trademark smile and pulled me into his chest. “Do I get to take you home tonight?”
“I hope so,” I said, wrapping my arms around him as he bent down to kiss me.
“Good,” he said. “I wanted that to be the answer. Or just ‘yes’. I’m going to get drinks for Vinny and Amber. Don’t pay for anything at the bar.”
Blood left my head and arms, pumping too fast for it to actually feel like it was staying anywhere. The only Amber he’d mentioned had been his ex. I knew there was a chance that this Amber was a friend, or someone he knew through Vinny or Vinny’s band, but rationalising anything wasn’t working. I wanted to run, to turn around and head to my brothers who were at Simone’s restaurant or to Ava, who I was pretty sure was at a nearby bar, but my feet remained planted.
So what if it was his ex—she was his ex. But why hadn’t he told me she’d be here?
Because he’s a man and if it doesn’t matter to him, he won’t realise it will matter to you.
I remained frozen, feeling warm with all the thoughts that were bouncing around my skull like captured flies. The lights dimmed further and there was noise from the crowd, the doors now closed and the set about to begin.
Owen was back near the mic, talking to Vinny and warming up a guitar. He’d mentioned he might play a couple of songs and I’d been keen to hear him. I tried to forget he’d mentioned Amber and concentrated on the music that was starting, acoustic versions of songs I’d heard on the radio from local stations and when I’d been at Owen’s. It was folk rock; Vinny had a gravelly voice that he could turn smooth and he sung about relationships that weren’t working out and the loss of the girl of his dreams.
Then another voice joined, a strong female tone that complemented Vinny’s. At first I didn’t see her, the lighting was dim and she was out of the spotlight, then I noticed the long red hair, the beautiful smiling woman from Owen’s photographs. It was her. It was Amber. Owen’s ex.
Reducing every insecurity I felt wasn’t curbing my anxieties. I didn’t understand why he hadn’t told me that she would be performing on his stage, potentially with him. The omission equated to a lie and already I could feel my shoulders sinking and the need to run out and find the nearest bottle of whisky almost like a pair of hands pushing my back.
The song finished to a large round of applause. Vinny started to speak and introduced Amber as an amazing woman and I wondered if they were together. The way he looked at her suggested they were.
“Thank you,” Amber said, stepping forward into the light. She looked a little nervous which I took pleasure in and then felt a bitch, “It’s good to be able to sing sometimes. I’d just like to thank the owner and brilliant mind behind Cases, Owen, who just happens to be my ex-husband…”
I didn’t hear the rest, instead my feet began to move, blood hitting my ears like a tsunami and I started to shift from the crowd. This was a lie. He’d been married and hadn’t told me; what else was there? I doubted he had a child—we’d spent too much time together for that to be a possibility—but there was too much doubt lingering now like a bad smell from a disused fish stand.
“Payton!” I heard my name as I reached the emergency exit. “Payton, stop. Please.”
The music was still carrying on, the crowd receptive to the set so far and no one had noticed me, except Owen.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Thankfully my voice came out calm rather than whiny.
He looked beautiful: black jeans and a dark blue shirt that was tight around his arms as usual. His eyes were blazing and his jaw was tense. “Because we were never really married. I understand why you’re mad right now because I haven’t told you something that should be massive. Can I have a chance to explain?”
