Jess’s shoulders relax. She feels herself taking a long exhale.That would be great, actually. She could choose to be annoyed at the implication:I have time to see you because my husband’s away.But she takes a deep breath and swallows the comment, because that would be unfair. Lily has never been that kind of friend.
Jess gets through the week the only way she knows how – by ignoring every difficult emotion and squashing down every painful thought. She plays her feel-good 90s playlists, rewatchesDerry Girls, and buys way too many flat-lay props on Etsy. She scrolls through forthcoming courses at City Lit and finds a French taster course, feeling inordinately proud of herself. It’s a one-off, with no ongoing commitment,so it feels less scary. And on Friday, she spends too much money on a bottle of red wine and takes herself off to Lily’s.
‘Fancy,’ Lily says, when she hands the bottle over.
‘This is not just wine,’ Jess says, wiggling her eyebrows. ‘This is M&S wine.’
Lily rolls her eyes. ‘That ad campaign needs to die a death.’
It’s unlike Lily to be so grumpy, even in jest.
‘You okay?’
She nods earnestly – almost a bit too earnestly. But they’ve got wine – that famous breaker-down of resistance. Eventually, if Lily wants to, she’ll talk.
‘Okay,’ Jess says.
‘I thought we could get takeaway,’ Lily says. Brightly, cheerfully, in athis-will-be-a-treatvoice. The biggest treat, though, is Lily’s cooking, and not just Magic Pasta. But takeaway is always good. So many options.
‘Sounds great,’ Jess says, matching Lily’s forced jollity with some of her own. Though it isn’t forced, not really. ‘Italian? Indian? Chinese? Oooh … Wagamama?’
‘We’re not having Wagamama,’ Lily says. ‘We’re not students anymore.’
‘You don’t have to be a student to enjoy their fried duck gyoza, though.’
‘Still. Veto.’
There’s a great Indian takeaway around the corner, and they settle for tikka masala and butter chicken, because the classics are classics for a reason.
But first, while they wait, wine.
‘So,’ Lily says, in a voice that, if Jess were overthinking, she might callresigned. ‘Tell me about the latest Alex nonsense.’
‘I had to emergency-babysit Ivy when we were supposed to be writing. She came over, and they played chess, and Alex let her win but in a not-obvious way so that she still got to be pleased with herself, and it was all going so well. And then he went pale and sweaty and left. So weird.’
‘Huh. Weird. Sudden onset of Covid, maybe?’
‘Yikes.’
‘Sorry.’ She grins: notthatsorry. ‘But seriously: he could have felt ill. These things can come on suddenly.’
‘I think he would have said so if that was what was happening.’
‘Unless it was something embarrassing. Like diarrhoea?’
‘I feel like getting on the Tube with diarrhoea coming on is probably not the best strategy.’
‘Fair enough.’ Lily taps her chin with her finger. ‘Do you think it could be the intrusion of real life?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, up until now, it’s been the two of you, in your bubble. The two of you, and the book … and yeah, occasional interruptions by people like me wanting to check his intentions are honourable. But things like grandparents falling and cousins needing a babysitter – that makes things real. It’s the stuff of real life, of real relationships.’
‘Commitment.’
‘Exactly. The things that aren’t always romantic or fun.’
Jess swallows hard and reaches for her wine glass.
