Page 35 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

Gemma laughed. ‘You know me too well. Look, why don’t you get the train home and do something to cheer yourself up? Make a nice dinner? Or how about that woman you met? Could you meet her for a drink rather than being on your own? You’ve had a rough twenty-four hours.’

‘Kate’ll be busy. Friday night. Peak date night.’ Jo thought for a second. ‘There’s the Scrabble club.’

‘Scrabble club?’

‘Yeah, I saw a poster. Hebbleswick has a Scrabble club.’

‘Perfect, get yourself down there. And in the meantime, I’ll ping you over that article.’

*

The eighteen thirty-seven was leaving the suburbs of Manchester behind when Jo’s phone pinged. She glanced at the screen: the promised article from Gemma.

Jo had lost count of the number of self-help links that Gemma had sent her over the years. She’d sent the first one, Jo recalled, soon after her marriage to Si; it was something about coercive control. This wasn’t a term Jo had heard before and she’d found it rather puzzling. And then he had stumbled across it one day when he’d been looking for an email in her inbox. He hadn’t been too pleased, said Gemma had always had a downer on him and that she wanted their marriage to fail. At the time, Jo could understand why he hadn’t wanted her to see much of Gemma after that.

Those articles! Perhaps it would be better if Gemma had never started sending them. Although now… well, looking back, she’d been right to be concerned, hadn’t she? Si had been rather controlling.

She put the novel she’d been reading back in her bag and opened this latest article:

How to Handle Adult Bullying

Bullying. Was it bullying? Or simply a personality clash?

She scanned down the list of suggestions.

Avoid places and situations where the bullying might happen.

Great, so what was she supposed to do? Not go to work?

Surround yourself with cheerleaders – people who encourage you and love you for who you are.

Cheerleaders? Where the hell was she supposed to find cheerleaders? People didn’t cheer when you won a game of Scrabble. They cheered for marathon runners crossing the line, footballers scoring a penalty in a cup final and pilots landing planes in high winds.

Practise self-love. Self-love? Really? What was that meant to achieve?

Another ping. Gemma again.

Don’t forget to go to the Scrabble club. Don’t sit at home being miserable on your own this evening. It’s Friday!

*

The club met in the hall at the back of St Cuthbert’s Church. She stopped halfway up the driveway, steeling herself. It was never easy meeting new people. But if they all liked Scrabble, they were bound to be nice.

Jo was early. The second to arrive in fact; there was a man there already, unstacking the chairs. Even though he had his back to her, she recognised him immediately. The orange anorak. The scruffy hair.

Ras.

Ras. At the Scrabble club?

Ras. Lovely Ras. Whom she had a wonderful first date with. And he shared her favourite hobby all along and she’d never known?

Ras. The man who didn’t like her; at least not enough to request a second date.

It would be wonderful to meet people here in Hebbleswick who liked playing Scrabble – what a world of difference that would make to her life – but Jo couldn’t face seeing him. So humiliating, to come face to face with a man who had rejected her.

Especially after the earlier debacle of her date with Tarquin.

She would leave, she decided. And she was about to when he must have sensed her watching him and turned around.