Then I press red to end the call. And I feel very good about it. That was one hundred per cent the right decision.
And, wow. I’ve just once and for all ended my marriage, and the only thing I feel is lighter-shouldered. I feel far, far greater emotion (negative) at the prospect of seeing Dominic tomorrow. And that is because he – sadly – is the man Iactuallylove.
18
DOMINIC
I’ve had a shit week, frankly. I’ve missed Flavia so much. I want to laugh with her, talk to her, tell her what I’ve been doing, find out what she’s been up to.
Actually, no, I don’t think I do want an update on what she’s been doing. For all I know she might now be back with Jed.
Seeing her at the station yesterday evening gave me a nasty shock: it made me think that I’m never going to stop loving her and that seeing her will always hurt. So I don’twantto see her. Unfortunately, I am currently on my way round, with my parents, to Flavia’s mum’s house, for our South Africa trip debrief. I feel about eight years old, as though I’m being taken by both my parents to a play date.
My mother has been periodically asking me probing questions about whether or not I had anice timewith Flavia, which I have been batting away with bland ‘yes, it was a great trip’ responses. I get the impression that our two mothers have been discussing their matchmaking plans for us. I wonder whether Flavia’s mum has been asking her the same questions, or whether in fact Flavia has now filled her in on a reunion with Jed.
It was almost endearing that Sofia genuinely seemed to think that giving me a lift from the station with Flavia might, what, suddenly inspire us to get married and provide her with another grandchild by the end of the year?
It would be very funny if it weren’t for the fact that – obviously – it’s quite the opposite given everything that’s happened.
‘This is going to besucha nice evening,’ my mother says as we turn up the path to Sofia’s house. She gives me a kind of fake-spy look that makes me wonder howoldand howstupidshe actually thinks I am. Crazy.
‘Yes.’ I fake a smile and keep on walking.
My dad fingers his pocket and I can see that he’s checking that his stash of roll papers and tobacco are in there for when he escapes at the earliest opportunity to the garden for a breather, despite the near-freezing conditions this weekend. I’d be very surprised if he’s in on our mothers’ plans.
We’re welcomed at the front door by both Sofia and Flavia. Sofia is beaming, Flavia not so much.
‘I haven’t invited anyone else, because I thought it would be nice for it just to be us,’ Sofia tells me and my parents. ‘So that we can really focus on the two of you and your trip, Flavia and Dominic.’ Her eyes move between us in laser-like fashion, and I squirm a little. ‘Vinny and Antonio are coming tomorrow for Sunday lunch to see their sister.’
‘Great,’ I say, while my mother’s beam matches Sofia’s and my father already looks a little bored.
To be fair to him, he did ask me if I enjoyed my trip, and even knew that I’d been to South Africa. I can’t remember the last time he paid one of his children that much attention.
Sofia gives us all a glass of champagne – it seems that she’s going all out this evening – and tells us that this is a belated New Year’s celebration.
We sip, and Flavia and I answer questions about Cape Town and the safari. The conversation does not stray away from the trip. Both Flavia and I produce a lot of chat about big five animals, ably backed up by Sofia, who evidently did a lot of research before booking the safari. If it weren’t for the tension between Flavia and me, and the weird knowledge I have that Sofia is definitely attempting to set the two of us up, it would all be very pleasant, because Flavia and Sofia are both inherently lovely people.
After some of us (certainly both Flavia and me) have consumed our bodyweight in the delicious Italian-style nibbles Sofia has provided – from my side I’m definitely eating out of a feeling of not being entirely sure how to act around Flavia – we sit down for dinner.
Sofia has herself at the head of the table, with Flavia on her right and me on her left, so that we’re facing each other. My dad’s next to Flavia and my mum’s next to me. Exactly the way she might seat us all if Flavia and I were an actual couple.
Flavia and I both prove adept at not allowing our mothers to talk to each other – neither of us want to be left to converse just the two of us – and the five of us chat as a group about lots of cosy topics. (Or, more accurately, four of us chat while my dad just cracks on with eating.)
Our conversation is painful. The weather (no joke). Why the council are collecting Christmas trees so late this year (yep, really). My parents’ newly decorated dining room.
Eventually, however, Flavia and I both begin to relax around each other. I’m thinking I can do this, and I’m guessing she’s feeling the same way. It’s all perfectly pleasant and, despite everything, Flavia’s company as always makes the most mundane conversation enjoyable. I love the way she giggles when the conversation getstooboring, but how also she really humours my parents and her mum with her full attention on topics that arguably really cannot be of interest to her.
‘How were your first couple of days back?’ I ask her when my dad – in an uncharacteristic display of actual interest – begins to grill her on her career. We talked while we were away about what the new year held for us, and I know that she’s been back at school this week.
‘You know, I actually really enjoyed them,’ she tells us. ‘I know I’ve only been there since September but the kids are amazing, I have some really nice colleagues who already feel like proper friends, and there’s a real push for positive change in the school, and generally it just all felt really good.’
We all ask her more questions, and she has some very interesting (and also very funny) stories to tell.
As always, I feel as though I could listen to her all evening. Or for the rest of my life.
I very much want to ask about what she decided about Jed – if anything – but it’s clearly none of my business, and – even if it were – I could hardly ask her now, in front of our parents.
‘Enough about me,’ she says too soon. ‘How wasyourreturn to work, Dominic?’
