Sonia blubbed for five minutes, telling me how sorry she was. “I had to lie to Adebayo!” she cried. Simon drummed his fingers on the dashboard.
“Uh-huh, listen, I gotta go. But ring Nigella. She’s waiting on your call and has a shoulder ready to cry on.”
Eventually, Sonia hung up, and I turned to Simon. “Right, ready.” He wound the window up even as Odette was still talking.
“What was all that about?” he asked.
I made a face. “Just another aspect of my life that’s spiralling out of control.”
Simon said nothing. He started the engine, and we set sail for London.
It wasn’t long after we started driving that the inevitable silence overtook us. Simon cleared his throat. I looked at him. He said nothing.
As we made our way past Sittingston, he cleared his throat again. This time, he tried to say something. Eventually, words left his mouth. “Sorry if I’ve been a bit judgemental to you. Especially that time I woke you up.”
I frowned. “When exactly?”
“When I turned up at your house, and you’d been asleep all day. I didn’t mean to make you feel … I understand how horrible the situation with Tarquin was; I shouldn’t have judged you for going through things.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. You’re entitled to have emotions, and I acted like a wanker.” He exhaled. This was costing him. “I know you’re angry with me, but I … do care, Arden. If you need to talk, I’m happy to listen. That’s what I was trying to say that day.”
He steadfastly focused on the road.
It was me who cleared my throat this time. “Thank you. If I’m honest, no, I’m not okay.”
He looked at me, finally.
“I haven’t spoken to anyone about everything … I hoped it’d go away. But – I’m not struggling per se, or—” I tried to find the right words. “I feel … I feel like I’m in a fog. Like, I’ve woken up from a nap and no matter what I do – however many showers I take, or how many coffees I drink or walks in the fresh air I go on – I can’t seem to shake this feeling. Like, I’m looking at my life happening through a window. Like, there’s a pane of glass up between me and everything else in the world. I’m one step removed from it all.”
“Arden,” Simon said firmly. “I’m not a doctor or anything, so please take this with the biggest grain of salt, but I’m pretty sure that’s a sign of clinical depression.”
“Oh.”
I screwed my face up. “I don’t feel depressed. Okay, I’m not jumping out of bed in the morning, and …”
I felt his hand touch mine.
“It’s okay.”
“I don’t want pills and doctors prodding about in my life,” I whispered.
“Maybe talking about it will help?”
“What, with you?”
Simon frowned. “I have … friends who have had similar things. Been through similar bouts. I know my role is to be a mate and listen, ask how they’re doing.”
“Okay.”
“So, how are you doing?” he said, flashing me a grin.
“Pretty shit, to be honest. My career is in the toilet, I found a dead body a few weeks ago, my ex tried to kill me, someone else tried to run me over, and now I have to go visit my other ex who cheated on me but wants to get back together, and you’re mad at me because I slept with Errol Mottley—”
“No, I’m not,” he said too quickly.
“Yes, you are.”
