Catherine breathed through the squirming discomfort in her stomach, rolled out her jigsaw mat on the coffee table, and tried to immerse herself in the puzzle for a while. Progress was slow. She bristled at every bang and scrape from above.
Occasionally, muffled laughter travelledthrough the walls, and she wondered whether they were laughing about her; thewithered old woman downstairs, whom they’d tricked into looking after their cat and building their furniture.What a mug!
She didn’t have to like them, but she needed to learn to live with a happy couple upstairs, serving as a constant reminder that she hadn’t just missed the boat; she’d belly-flopped off the dock while trying to catch it.Oh, stop being so melodramatic.
After slotting an elusive piece into Sappho’s face, Catherine stretched up off the floor and decided to reward herself with a drink. Her mood declined further when she discovered she’d finished the last of the Scotch yesterday evening. She’d been so involved with the flatpack she’d forgotten to make a mental note to get another bottle.
With a big sigh, she tugged on her long Puffa coat and set out on the familiar route, hunching against the chill that had crept in with dusk. A bell rang over the door when she entered the corner shop. She smiled at the usual man behind the counter and walked the aisles to the chilled section to contemplate the ready meals, none of which sounded appealing. She should’ve gone grocery shopping earlier, filled her fridge, and planned a nice evening for herself instead of fuming in her flat.
How on earth was she qualified to help other people when she couldn’t even help herself? That was a question for another day. She settled on macaroni cheese and grabbed an extra-large bar of Dairy Milk on the way to the till, where she pointed to a bottle of Scotch from the limited range and paid, berating herself that she hadforgotten her reusable bag (it wasn’t the ten pence charge, it was the principle).
Thankfully, the main door was still locked when she returned, which meant she could postpone the difficult conversation, at least until it happened again. As she pushed inside, the smell of something delicious and savoury wafted out. Catherine stilled at the sight of Jules standing by her front door.
“Ah, that’s why you’re not answering.” Jules spun around and beamed. She looked elegantly casual, wearing an oversized Oxford shirt and figure-hugging jeans. Jules was the sort of woman who’d look good in anything… or nothing at all.
Catherine tore her eyes away and glanced down at her carrier bag, the thin white plastic doing little to hide the sad contents it contained.Microwave meal-for-one, comfort calories and sorrow-drowning booze. Christ.“I nipped out for a few essentials.”
“I popped down to give you this.” Jules held up a gift bag. “It’s just a little something to say thank you. And to apologise for all the noise we’ve made today.”
“You shouldn’t have. Really, it’s fine.” Catherine pursed her lips.
“Almost unpacked now though,” Jules said through a breathy laugh. “It’s starting to feel a bit like home.”
Catherine flashed a flat smile and muttered her thanks as she took the proffered gift. She moved past Jules to unlock her door. The other woman stepped aside but didn’t leave.
Hovering in her doorway, Catherine turned to look ather again. Jules stood with a hand resting on the dark-wood newel post. “Um, if you’re not busy this evening, you’re welcome to join us for Chinese. Will’s just plating up. He ordered way more than we can eat.”
“Oh. Thanks, but I have dinner all sorted.”
“Right, okay. Yeah, that’s—” Jules scuffed a socked foot on the bottom stair, like she was wrestling with indecision about saying something else. “Would you like to come over for dinner next week? I can cook. I love cooking, so it’d be…”
Catherine frowned. “Have you got more flatpack you need building?”
Jules let out a laugh. “No, it’s all done, thank you. I just thought it might be nice for us to get to know each other.” Her hazel eyes looked so warm and inviting, Catherine relented; she really had no reason to be unkind.
“Okay, well, maybe when you and your husband are a bit more settled in, perhaps?—”
“My what?”
“Your husband.”
“I don’t have a husband.”
“Oh, I thought…”
“Oh my God!” Jules clapped her hand over her mouth to hold in her laughter. “You thought… me and Will were…?”
Heat burned in Catherine’s cheeks.
“Will’s my best friend. He’s the one with the husband, not me.”
“Oh, right!” Catherine laughed too as an irrational flood of relief coursed through her.
At that moment, the door upstairs cracked open, and Will yelled through the gap. “Dinner’s getting cold and I’m bloody starving!”
“Keep your knickers on, Wilma, I’m on my way!” Jules rolled her eyes. “I mean, you actually met him earlier, right? He’s camper than a row of diamond-encrusted tents.”
“I don’t like to make assumptions about people.” Catherine chewed her lip because all she’d done so far was make assumptions, and how wrong she’d been. She really should know better.
