Not bad.
“It’s showtime,” I whisper to my reflection in the mirror, because that’s the sort of thing they do in films.
“Hi, Freya,” he says nervously, when I open the door.
“Matthew,” I reply, before standing aside to let him come into the flat.
Strong start, Freya. Civil, calm, controlled.
He walks into the sitting room, his hands in his pockets, his sunglasses resting on top of his head. He’s wearing terrible denim shorts, for which I am utterly grateful. No matter what happens, at least I have that.
“It looks great in here,” he remarks, scanning the room before his eyes land on one of my new B&Q purchases. “Cool houseplant.”
“Thanks,” I say casually, looking at it in admiration. “It’s a peace lily. I needed something to fill that space. How is Percy, by the way?”
“Who?”
“Percy. The big Swiss cheese plant that used to be there. You took it when you moved out,” I explain when he stares at me blankly.
“Oh right, yeah, the one with the funky leaves.” He nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, Mum loves it.”
Sorry.
What did he just say?!Is this some kind of joke?!
“Oh! You gave Percy to your mum,” I comment, trying to keep control of my voice, but struggling to make it less squeaky. “How nice.”
“You know how she loves plants.”
“Mmm.”
I clear my throat. This is not the time to explode. I mean, sure, some people might be veryhurtandinsultedby the news that the houseplant they gifted someone and took great care of when said houseplant lived under their roof was given away without a moment’s thought. But this isn’t the time to get worked up about a houseplant named Percy. I can’t let this news throw me.
“Would you like a drink?” I ask, pushing aside my dismay.
“Maybe some water,” he replies. “It’s warm out there.”
“Sure. Won’t be a moment.”
I leave him to go into the kitchen, taking long, deep breaths as I turn on the cold tap and let it run for a moment. My stomach is filled with butterflies. It’s the strangest feeling, standing in our living room together, acting like strangers.
I return with a glass of water for him and one for me, settingthem down on the coffee table before taking a seat on the sofa and gesturing for him to sit. He does so, reaching for his water and taking three large gulps, almost downing the whole thing. One of the things I always found irritating about him was how loudly he glugged drinks. It was one of those niggles you forgive your other half for, because you love them and these are the little things that make them who they are.
But that is bloody annoying.
“Feel better?” I ask as he puts the glass down.
“Yes, thank you,” he says, before slumping back into the cushions and running a hand through his hair. He takes a deep breath and looks me straight in the eye, his voice softening. “How are you, Freya?”
“I’m okay,” I respond confidently. “I really am. How are you?”
“Fine. A little nervous right now.” He glances round him. “Feels strange sitting here.”
“I can imagine.”
He pauses. “That was a dramatic night in Soho, huh.”
“It was.”
