I quickly ran to the other side of the flat and closed the door to the garden. I then put my hands on my hips and, with a great beaming smile on my face, felt an overwhelming sense of achievement. In the future, if any bird swoops into my home, I know that I’ve got it covered. Before now, I didn’t know that I had that capability in the bag.
I was right, I thought, putting the tea towel back on its hook before returning happily to the sofa. I’ve got this.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Swill Awards celebrate the best wine, beers, and spirits of the year, and it’s a pretty big deal for the drinks trade. It’s usually held at a fancy hotel in London—this year, the Dorchester—and it’s always a fun night out with the team and their partners, if they bring them along, plus a great opportunity to meet existing and potentially new clients.
This time last year, I was on my way to the awards and in a terrible mood. Matthew and I had had a big fight the night before and we hadn’t spoken all day, both of us too stubborn to apologize. The argument kicked off when I was getting a black evening dress out of the wardrobe in preparation to bring it with me the next day to work so I could change into it before the awards, when Matthew arrived home from watching football at Akin’s.
He was lying on the bed, his legs outstretched and crossed, his shoes still on, one hand holding his phone, and the other behind his head on the pillow. He had quite long hair at that stage, long enough that it fell into his eyes if he didn’t push it back. He was growing it out and it didn’t suit him as well as it did short. He also had the start of what he hoped might become a beard, but it grew too patchy, so didn’t last long. I quite liked the beard, but was overruled.
“I like that dress,” he commented.
“Good.” I smiled, looking for the shoes I needed to wear with it. “What are you planning on wearing?”
“To what?” he asked, scrolling through his phone.
I found my classic black court heels and put them in my bag. “To the awards.”
“I’m not going.”
I stopped on my way across the room to get my jewelry. “What do you mean you’re not going?”
He finally looked up from his phone. “I’ve got work drinks tomorrow.”
“But this has been in the calendar for ages.”
“In your calendar,” he emphasized, frowning.
“In our shared calendar,” I said firmly, getting it up on my phone to check. “I put it in a couple of months ago. Surely you saw it.”
“Yeah, but I thought it was just you going.”
“What?” Putting a hand on my hip, I smiled nervously as I wasn’t quite sure yet if he was being serious. “You come with me to these awards every year.”
“You didn’t tell me I had to come.”
“I assumed you knew,” I said, my smile starting to fade. “Are you really not coming?”
“I’ve said I’m going to these work drinks and I can’t back out now, especially as I missed the last ones because I had that family meal with Mum. If I drop out of these and say I have to go to my partner’s work drinks instead, they’ll think I’m using any excuse to get out of them.”
“Swills isn’t a ‘work drinks’ night,” I pointed out, getting annoyed now. “It’s a really important night to me, you know it is.”
“Yes,” he said slowly, also growing irritated, “but this year you didn’t say I had to be there, so I made other plans. Sorry, Freya, but you can’t just put stuff in the calendar for both of us and expect me to be there.”
“We go every year together, I didn’t think I had to specify that I wanted you to come!”
“That doesn’t mean you can control the calendar without even talking to me about things and assume I’m okay with it! How would you feel if I put something in the calendar without mentioning it to you and then expected you to do it anyway?”
I hesitated, because obviously I wouldhateit if he did that.
“This is different!” I argued, even though I knew exactly what that sounded like. “It’s an annual thing that you know all about. Why didn’t you say something when you saw it in the calendar and decided you didn’t want to go?”
“That’s not my responsibility!”
“How is that not your responsibility, Matthew?”
“It’s your responsibility to tell me I have to come to your work event,” he said with a huff, sitting up on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “I wouldn’t put my work drinks in the shared calendar and expect you to come.”
