“Ollie,” I started – my phone began buzzing with an incoming call. I looked at it. “It’s Nigella, I should take it.”
He sighed again and walked back to the coffee, running his hands over his face. “I’ll go get dressed and give you some privacy.”
As he left, Kenny came up to me and leaned on my leg. “Hello, boy,” I said, stroking his velvety ear and then pressed answer.
“Good morning.” I tried to sound cheery.
“Is it?” Nigella asked.
“Someone not enjoying the heat?”
“Is it hot? I hadn’t noticed.” She sounded sincere.
“Everything alright?”
“Guy’s asked everyone around to Honningtons tomorrow night. He wants to clear the air and move forward.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s … I don’t have a message from him …”
“No, I’m doing that. He said it’s my discretion who I invite. It’ll be just a few of us.”
“I’m coming home today, anyway.”
“Great. Come to my place for seven. There are a few reporters, so I’ll have to take you the back way. I think you’re the only one who doesn’t know the route.”
“Sounds awful. Can’t wait.” I hung up.
I looked down at Kenny. “Today is going to be shit.”
Ollie left not long afterwards. He gave me a timid kiss on the cheek as he got ready to depart, once again, suited and booted for the city life.
His £100 holdall was in his hand. The Jag awaited. The week-long reprieve from Real Life was over.
“Shall I call you?” I knew he was seeking clarity on where we stood. I should let him down gently. Or I should be firm and direct. Any route would be better than the one I took, which was to give a wan smile and nod slightly.
He cupped my cheek for a second and then made his departure.
After a final inspection of the house to make sure I hadn’t left a cat behind and there weren’t condom wrappers flung around the bedroom, I hit the road back to Lilbury. Kenny behaved himself on the journey, which was twice in a row, so I assumed he now knew car etiquette, and I could take him with me anywhere.
I arrived in Lilbury a little after midday and realised there would be nothing in the fridge except for things that by now had grown friends. I pulled over at the Co-op at the northern end of the village and walked in. It was less risky here, as most of the residents used the shop owned by Roz at the other end of the high street. This was purely for passing traffic.
Making my way around, throwing my odds and sods in a basket, I walked smack bang into Katrina Pettigrew. She looked as startled as I did, and we both clutched our chests like we were having a heart attack.
“Goodness, you’re stealthy,” she remarked, trying to smile.
“Sorry, my fault,” I stuttered.
She finally settled her nerves enough to give me a hundred-watt smile. “I’m so sorry to hear what’s been going on. I’ve been helping Nigella all week with the fallout.”
“Oh. Oh, thanks. Are you a PR person too?” I asked. Or a Tory?
“Gosh, no. I worked at a hospital in Scotland, so I’ve a bit of experience in the IT side of things, which poor Nigella doesn’t understand at all. It’s been dreadful this week – what they’ve put Guy through. It makes me so mad.”
I gave my now practised wan smile.
“Will I see you tomorrow at the … meeting, shall we call it?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said. For reasons unknown to me, I was desperate for an escape. The last time I’d met Katrina, she’d barely have said boo to a goose, and now she was Chatty Kathy while my Ben & Jerry’s was melting.
