‘Look, Mags, I really do have to dash, I’m sorry.’ Discreetly, I check my watch again, ‘I know I should have called, or come over, or something, but we’ve only been back from our honeymoon for a few days and things have been kind of manic.’
‘Right. Kind of manic, going to that posh leisure centre down the road to do yoga with that girl. What’s her name? Sadie.’
I pause, my heart doing a funny stutter in my chest. ‘Mags…’
‘No, no. It’s fine. I only put you back together again after the whole Harry thing. But you know, as long as you have time for yoga with your new friends, that’s the most important thing, right?’ Mags pulls out a crumpled hand-rolled cigarette and lights it with a flourish. ‘Don’t worry about it, Em.’
‘There’s no need to be like that,’ I say, but I would feel the same way, I think to myself. Mags has every right to be annoyed with me. ‘I’ll come and see you next week, shall I? We can have lunch or something.’
‘What, you’ll invite me over to your big house, with your stone lions, and your big driveway, like you do all your other, new friends? I don’t think so, Emily, that’s not really my style is it?’ Mags turns and starts to walk away, but not before I see the hurt flash across her face. She turns back. ‘You’ve got some post, at the flat, by the way. I’ll send it on, shall I?’
I watch silently as Mags strolls away, an unsettled feeling sitting heavy in my stomach. I feel bad about neglecting Mags, of course I do; Mags was the one who gave me somewhere to live and helped me get back on my feet when everything went wrong with Harry. I’ve been a shit friend, I know that, but Mags was never perfect. I think of the way she wore my clothes without asking, the messages that never reached me, the way I woke up to find her standing at the end of my bed, apparently asleep. And now there’s something about the way Mags was with me that has left me feeling a little rattled, but I’m late and shaking the thought from my mind, I hurry up the road to a building on the corner.
I’ve timed it perfectly. Angus Beaton, head of children’s charity The Children’s Trust, is juggling his briefcase, hot coffee, a bagel and trying to get the door open with one hand.
‘Here, let me—’ I push gently past him, holding the door open and then cheekily sliding in after him.
‘Thank you.’ Angus is walking towards the lift, about to not give me another thought, but I follow him, the heels of my boots clacking across the tiled floor.
‘Mr Beaton, isn’t it?’ When he nods, I stick out a hand for him to shake before I laugh, nodding at the coffee in his left hand and the bagel in his right. No sign of the butterflies that are currently swarming in my stomach. ‘Maybe no handshake… I’m Emily Milligan.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Miss… Milligan.’ Frowning, Angus punches at the lift button with his thumb. ‘Was there something I could help you with? Do you have an appointment with me?’
‘It’s Mrs Milligan. Sorry, I don’t have an appointment, and I know I’m being a bit cheeky just turning up like this… although I prefer to say, motivated and acting on my own initiative,’ I give another tinkling laugh, as I follow him into the lift, ‘but it’s about your fundraising and communication department… my husband donates to you quite a lot, and from your literature you’ve sent to him, I understand you currently have a vacancy?’
It’s only later, when I have taken myself out for a celebratory lunch of sushi and Sauvignon, congratulating myself on taking the initiative and bagging myself what did – in the end – turn out to be a sort of job interview, although it is of course a voluntary position to begin with, just like Caro’s, that I remember about Mags, and the chill that settled on me when she left. It’s only now, when I’ve had a chance to sit and relax for five minutes, to process the whole conversation, that I realize what made me feel so rattled. How did Mags specifically know that I was doing a yoga class at the leisure centre? Even I didn’t know until that morning. I sip at my cold wine as I think, but the icy finger that runs down my back has nothing to do with the ice in my glass as another thought strikes me. How does Mags know where I live, when I’ve never given her the address?
Chapter Sixteen
Rupert and I are back on track after our rocky weekend, and I am trying to keep things that way. I haven’t mentioned seeing Mags, or the strange unsettled feeling that comes over me when I replay our conversation in my head, the way she knew where I lived, and where I had been. I’ve also pushed away the way Rupert’s face changed that night, contorted into some ugly expression of anger and something that almost looked like fear. If I close my eyes, Harry’s face replaces Rupert’s and I see him coming for me, spittle flying from his mouth as he shouts, vicious words pouring from his lips as he calls me a bitch and his outstretched hands close around my throat. Rupert is nothing like Harry, I tell myself as we snuggle onto the sofa together each evening, my head on his chest, his fingers entangled in my hair, our hearts beating in rhythm. Maybe Rupert is right; I am so worried about someone wrecking this happy place I’ve found myself in that I keep finding things that point to everything
