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“Yeah, Mum said she was a bi⁠—”

“Okay, girls, I think it’s time we got you both bathed and ready for bed.” Romana sweeps in and ushers the girls out of the room while sending me a silent apology and eyeing Smithy.

“I’ll help,” he says as he starts to dry his hands on the front of his trousers.

“We can finish tidying up.” Alice stands.

“There’s no need, really,” Romana says before she leaves the room.

“It’s the least we can do.” Alice walks over to the counter and picks up a towel.

With a gulp, I take up my position by the sink and brace myself.

28

Alice

The kitchen clears as if someone’s announced we have the plague. Owen and I are left alone with a ton of washing up, which I’m so grateful for right now because I don’t know what to do with myself.

I’m in shock, and I don’t know why. Owen is thirty-eight, which, as Lori pointed out, is plenty of time for him to have had a past. I just didn’t expect a wife to be part of that past.

“Well, this is awkward,” Owen says as he slips his hands into the water.

“It shouldn’t be, though,” I say. The last thing I want is for him to feel weird.

“What do you mean?”

“If I were your actual girlfriend, then yes, this would be awkward. But we’re work colleagues, friends, and that doesn’t mean we have to share everything about ourselves.” I’m trying to rescue him. I know how nervous he gets, and I don’t want to spoil this wonderful evening, because it has been wonderful.

“Still, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Owen says, rinsing the suds from the glasses.

“Please don’t be. You were under no obligation to tell me your entire history. Your past is exactly that—yours, and it’s no business of mine,” I reassure him.

“Okay, but you look rattled,” he points out.

“Only because I know you are, and because it was a bit of a shock. I haven’t really imagined you with anyone other than Paul, let alone married.”

“I’m not sure whether to take offence.” He holds out the glass he’s just washed for me. I wrap it in the towel and take it from him as I think about my answer.

“You’re just so closed off, so insular. It’s like you don’t let anyone in.”

“I’ve let you in.” He stops, his hands suspended in the water, and I see now how much he has let me in. After all, I’m standing in his friend’s kitchen, having spent time with the only family he appears to have, knowing things about him no one else probably knows.

“You have, and that’s why I’m not cross, because you’ve shared so much with me, and I know it doesn’t come easy.”

“I wasn’t always like this.” His face has changed to the one he wears at Kitchen City, the one he presents daily to the outside world. Sadness washes over me because it’s his mask. There’s a different Owen underneath the greyness. An Uncle Owen, who teases kids, cracks jokes, and shares a bed with his dog.

“I see that now. I got a glimpse of you tonight, a person I’ve never seen before. You were happy, smiling, and joking around. Totally different from the Owen I see at work. And whatever happened, whatever you went through, must have been tough to change you so much. But I won’t push you to talk about it. Not for the sake of a fake date and a wedding.” I pick up a spoon and start to dry it, hoping I’ve chosen the right words.

I want to know what happened to him, why his marriage broke down, and how it’s shaped him into this cold, distant person. As far as Romana is concerned, it was the wife’s fault. Not only did she take the photo down—though of course she took it down, as Owen is their friend and wouldn’t have wanted to see the reminder every week—but she must have referred to Owen’s ex as a bitch at some point.

But what happened? Did she cheat on him? Leave him for someone younger? Did she swindle him out of his money? Did she marry him for a visa just to get into the country and then leave him when she had what she needed? Or did she simply pack her bags one night and never return?

The possibilities are endless. And as much as I’ve told Owen he doesn’t need to tell me, I want to know. Not because I want to gossip or because my incurable insatiability is driving the wheel. I want to know because I care about him.

I truly care about him.

And not just in a work colleague sense of the word. No, I care about Owen Shea—the Owen Shea I’ve seen tonight, the one who’s happy, but also the sad Owen Shea who I’ve known for the past year.