Emily swallowed. She opened her mouth to say something—but what? She’d already said enough. Now that her brain was beginning to function, she realised she’d said far too much. All that nonsense about them talking about her, and being a cold fish…
He must have thought she was ridiculous. Pathetic.
She closed her mouth. Swallowed again. And then she hurried back into the pub, scurrying in her sudden need to escape Owen Jones and all she’d said to him.
“Emily.” Harriet looked genuinely anxious as she half-rose from her seat when Emily approached the table. “We were getting worried…”
“About to send out a search party,” Ava chimed in with a sympathetic smile. Did she realise Emily had overheard their conversation? Did they all know? Perhaps they’d been talking about that, too.
“Sorry, I just got into a conversation with someone,” Emily said, meeting no one’s eyes as she sat on her stool in the corner and then glugged the rest of her champagne; someone had poured her another glass from Owen’s bottle. She should have thanked him for that, she realised. She hadn’t even mentioned it. Her heart was still racing, and in her mind’s eye she could still see Owen’s face, so close to hers.
Had he been going to kiss her? Or was that just the lamentable figment of what had never before been an overactive imagination?
She had to stop thinking about it. Now.
The conversation kick-started again, and Emily made do with murmurs of interest as Ellie talked about her daughter Abby, and Ava about her toddler son, and Harriet about her husband Richard’s new job teaching history in a comprehensive near Oxford. Everyone seemed so happy, brimming with life and love and possibility, that Emily didn’t need to make much effort, just as she’d once hoped. It seemed everyone had, by complicit agreement or not, decided to leave her alone…which was just how she wanted it.
Wasn’t it?
Of course it was.
At half past ten they finally settled up at the bar, and Emily trailed behind, not wanting to meet Owen’s eye. She’d refused to look towards the bar even once since coming back from the courtyard, but as Harriet settled the bill, her gaze snagged on Owen and he gave her a wink that everyone could see. Odious man. Odious, impossible, attractive man. Emily pursed her lips and looked away.
Outside the air was still and cold as they began to totter back to Willoughby Close. As no one was in a fit state to drive, they’d made arrangements to sleep over at each other’s houses, something that amazed Emily.
They were like little girls planning a slumber party, something she’d never experienced, of course. But still. It boggled her mind that women her age—and even older—could be so friendly and affectionate, wrapping their arms around each other’s shoulders as they planned who would sleep where.
If she’d been feeling left out before, she felt even more so now, but of course that wasn’t how she was feeling at all, because she didn’t even want to be included.
Still, it was with a tumult of uneasy feelings that Emily finally made her farewells; Harriet threw her arms around her and mumbled some sort of apology, and Ellie squeezed her hand and said they would have to get together for a coffee soon. Ava gave her another one of her knowing yet sympathetic looks, and Alice smiled shyly. They really were all lovely, and being with them made Emily ache even as she longed to get away.
She breathed out a gusty sigh of relief when she’d finally closed the door of number one behind her, and the quiet peace of her cottage surrounded her. She gazed round the small, neat space, everything in its place, and tried to feel that sense of reassurance and safety that was so important to her.
Owen. Owen Jones.
No. She couldn’t think about him. Couldn’t remember what she’d wittered on about, or how he’d held her by the shoulders, and how, for several heart-stopping moments, she’d really thought he was going to kiss her.
What if he had kissed her? Emily had been kissed before. She wasn’t that much of a naïve twit. She’d gone to a party in uni and let a bloke chat her up and then kiss her, quite a sloppy affair, just to see what the fuss was about.
In her last year, during a study session, a geeky friend of hers had blurted his true feelings to her, and shocked, Emily had let him kiss her and fumble at her clothes, feeling weirdly distanced from it all. They’d both drawn back before it had gone very far, embarrassed by the whole thing, and the next time she’d seen him they’d been back to being friends.
Then, her third and last experience had been at a leaving do for another assistant at Ellis Investments a couple of years ago. Emily had been chivvied along to a posh wine bar, and a man had chatted her up and then followed her back to the loo when she’d excused herself. He’d been so suave that Emily had found herself pressed up against the wall before she’d even realised what was going on. He’d been an accomplished kisser, and something about the sureness of his manner had weirdly thrilled her, until he’d cupped her cheek and she’d felt the cold, hard metal band of his wedding ring.
All told, it wasn’t much physical experience, but then she’d never really been interested in gaining any to begin with. She really was a cold fish.
With another sigh, Emily moved away from the door. The evening hadn’t been a complete disaster, she told herself, even though she suspected it had. In any case, most of those women she probably wouldn’t see again, no matter what they’d promised.
Ellie lived in Oxford, and Ava was busy with her husband and son, and Harriet sounded like she was the chair of every village committee going. Judging
