‘Oh, look at the time.’ I make a show of glancing at my watch. ‘I’d best dash before the caterers close.’
‘You’re catering?’
‘My birthday. I’m having a party next week. I’ve sort of left everything a bit late.’ On account of wondering if I could get out of it, I suppose. But my friends weren’t having any of that.
‘We offer outside catering. You should let us cater. I’ll give you my friendly neighbourhood rate.’
I’m not sure that’s an actual thing, but as Tate reaches for his laptop and the menus and pricelists on his website, I see that it is. I leave the place with a decent menu and a strangely reasonable bill, in exchange for an awkward hug I didn’t see coming and an invitation that he should “pop in” next Saturday night.
Saved from an hour with a caterer, I go shopping instead, honing in on a little boutique I haven’t visited in an age. I treat myself, buying a dress that a sexy, grown-up Wednesday Addams would die for, and some underwear I’m pretty sure Flynn will die alittle deathwhen he sees me wearing them.
I’m just paying up at the counter when my phone rings again.
‘Dah-ling!’ My aunt Camilla is a little theatrical. She likes to tell people she used to be a thespian. Truth is, she still is. She just no longer gets paid for her ham-iness. But she’s the one person in my family, other than Max, who really takes any interest in my life.
‘I see the familial grapevine isn’t on the blink.’ Sliding my credit card away, I murmur my thanks to the store assistant as I grasp my bags and step out into the street.
‘Strange you should say that. Ihavejust got off the phone with your mother.’ She says this with an air of someone having experienced a colonic. She never fails to make me smile. Or feel better about myself. ‘Imagine my surprise when she inadvertently let it slip you were having a little party for your birthday.’ Let slip, my left tit. She was probably complaining. ‘Charlie, darling, I’ll admit I was hurt.’
‘Stop pouting. You know there’s an invitation for you. I mailed it myself. You’ve probably just ignored it.’
‘Oh, how fancy! No one does proper invitations these days. You young ones are all about the text.’ I hear her heels echo along the parquet floor of her hall. Papers rustle then tear. ‘You are a love. So we have a theme!’ she exclaims. ‘And will there be lots of pretty boys in attendance?’
‘It’s like you don’t know me at all—like you didn’t teach me anything!’
My aunt’s ribald humour rattles down the line. ‘You are a saucy one. You didn’t getthatfrom your mother.’ Aunt Camilla is my mother’s aunt. Like me, she’s always been the black sheep of the family. ‘You are the daughter I never had.’ She tells me this at least once per call, finishing it with, ‘The daughter I could never have coped with.’
If Auntie Cam couldn’t have coped with me, it was more to do with her lifestyle. Because, truthfully, my parents didn’t even realise I was there most of the time. In fact, most of the time, I was at school.
‘Did Caroline say if she was coming to the party?’ I ask, Caroline being my mother.
‘She was... very cagey about it, dear.’ I swallow a few times, willing the tears away. I must be due my period or something. Normally, I wouldn’t give a stuff.
‘I doubt Dad will come. Something to do with prior plans.’
‘It’ll be that floozie he’s seeing. Number forty-three, isn’t she?’
‘Oh, you know that’s not her name.’ I’m not touchingthat,even if I don’t like the woman. ‘Nor is she girlfriend number forty-three.’
‘No, I’m sure you’re right,’ she answers, unchastised. ‘I doubt there are forty-three women on the planet stupid enough to live with him. It’s a good job you got my genes, darling. So, this party. Tell me a little why you think thirty is elderly.’
I laugh loudly. Trust Cam to bring the topic back to her. We chat a little longer before we say our goodbyes. I drop my phone back into my purse, hitching it higher on my shoulder when something farther down the street catches my eye.
A family. A husband, I assume, and his wife. She has a toddler balanced high on her hip, the husband wearing one of those baby carriers, the tiny bundle dangling from his chest. On any day this might tug the strings to my heart’s desire.My longings.But today, all I feel is panic.
‘Chastity. H-how are you?’
I realise I haven’t moved from my spot outside of the boutique doorway. Stupid.Stupid!I should’ve turned and walked the other way. At a decent pace.
‘Miles. How are you?’ I’m surprised how even my voice sounds. Surprised and grateful.
‘Have you met Helena, my wife?’
‘No.’ I send her a quick smile as we murmur our respective hellos, the tow-headed toddler she holds on her hip wriggling to the ground.
‘And this is Isobel,’ he says, smiling happily down at the gurgling bundle in his baby bag thing. ‘And this wriggling fellow is Freddie. Say hello to the lady, Freddie.’
I suddenly want to be sick. Freddie. What the fuck is wrong with him? Why would he want to hurt me? And “the lady?” Is that what I am these days? I’m not the woman you used to like to fuck while you pulled her hair and called her bad names?
