He came over to the table and laid his wares out in front of us. “I bring sustenance.” He opened a bag and bit into a sausage roll. After a few seconds of chewing, he looked in my direction and slid a cup of coffee towards me. “Food and drink is good. It’ll make you feel better.”
I did what I always did whenever someone was nice to me and burst into tears.
The wretchedness in me took over, and I sat there blubbing, sniffing, snot everywhere, and whining. “I thought he loved me. But he-he never r-really loved me, did he?” I put my head in my hands and fell apart. I wasso tired of it all. I wanted a quiet life with a nice man. Why couldn’t I get that?
A shadow passed over me, and I felt a weight next to me on the seat. Simon’s arm came around my shoulders. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered.
“I’m such an idiot,” I said, trying to wipe my nose.
“No, you’re not. You loved him and he let you down,” Simon said. “If it makes you feel better, I think he’s a twat. Who has you and goes looking elsewhere?”
“It’s not like I’m any better. I slept with you, with Tarquin, with Errol. I’m as bad as he is, but I pretend I’m not.” The tears began to subside after a while, and I was able to eventually breathe and talk normally again. Simon offered me a napkin covered in sausage roll crumbs.
“First of all, that’s utter nonsense,” he said, shaking his head. “You haven’t cheated on anyone. You’re single and can do what you like. And secondly, we’ve all been there. If I had a fiver for every time that I’ve bawled into my pillow about some bloke who’d done me over, I’d … well, I’d be as rich as you are.”
I laughed because I couldn’t imagine Simon having his heart broken. I looked up at him. He was so close. I could see the ginger stubble on his chin, the bags under his eyes and his greasy hair. Those deep blue eyes. That were staring straight at me. “You look like shit,” I mumbled.
“So do you. Except you’re working with a higher quality canvas than me, so you’re still better off,” he said. He reached up and pushed a piece of my fringe off my face. “I know you still love him, Arden, and maybe you always will. I wish I could wave a magic wand and make you get over him for good, I really do.”
I gulped. And sniffled some more. “You’ll meet a nice guy, Arden. I promise you. And all the Ollies and Tarquins of the world will fade to the back of your mind. You’ll be happy, and eventually, you’ll have to stop and think to remember what their faces looked like.”
“You promise?”
“Promise.” He smiled and clapped me on my shoulder. “C’mon, eat. Stop letting that twat control your life and let’s get home.”
I know what you’re thinking, reader. That I’m a hypocrite. And, why couldn’t Ollie sleep with whoever he felt like? I had dumped him. He was single. He could do what he wanted.
But why had he made so many efforts to win me back if he was still seeing that … that piece of shit, Jamie. “Maybe Jamie sent the letter,” I muttered to myself as I got back in the truck.
“That’s the spirit, mate. Let’s frame the little wanker for murder,” Simon said, joking.
“Why can’t you be like this all the time?” I blurted out.
Simon frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Nice! Why can’t you always be nice to me? Why do we always have to wind each other up? Why can’t we get along – we do when we try. We could be really good friends. But we … no, you said my self-esteem was too low, so fuck it,you– it’s you who always makes it awkward. You always get in a huff with me about something. But then you go and do nice things, and I don’t know where I am with you. It’s exhausting. Either hate me or be my friend.”
Simon was very quiet for a long time. And then he reached over and took my face in his big hands and kissed me.
Nigella gave me an odd look when I came to pick up Kennedy. Like she could tell I wasn’t quite all there. Was she like Verity and concerned I was acting manic? I ignored it.
“Was he well behaved?” I asked.
“An angel. Oh, and Sonia stayed over last night, too. Poor thing was a wreck. We concocted some plans to put her back together.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Full debrief over gin and tonics when I’ve had some sleep?” I asked.
“I’ve got a bottle of Tanqueray waiting for whenever you’re ready. Bring some lemons.”
Kennedy and I walked – slowly – home, and I fell into bed. I slept for hours and hours.
Correction. I slept for about four hours. I woke up in the late afternoon. It was blisteringly hot outside and even hotter in my room. I was drenched in sweat.
After a long shower, I listened to the news on the radio, which was full of predictions for tomorrow’s election. Suzy’s victory was all but a foregone conclusion. She was believed to be a few points ahead of the replacement Tory candidate, who had made underwhelming impressions in local radio and TV interviews over the past several days. In my trip to London, I had missed several high-profile cabinet ministers and even the Prime Minister visiting the area to curry up support for a seat that three weeks ago they would never have thought they could lose.
I finished eating, made a fuss of the cats, who hadn’t even noticed I’d been gone, and told Kennedy to stay. I marched down to the village. It was crunch time. And I needed answers.
Simon was already there, like he said he would be.
