‘Too bad for him.’
‘I think he wants you back.’
‘It’s too late. What’s done is done and all that shit.’
‘Oh Maya. You know, you’re really crap at the hard bitch act.’
I shrug.
‘It’s not an act. He’s burnt his bridges.’ I try out a smile. Jesus, this is killing me. ‘Even if he has changed his mind, I’m not taking him back.’
Lily sits back. Running her fingers around the edge of her cup, she probes me with those dark eyes. At last, she seems to reach a conclusion.
‘Wooden acting, a thoroughly terrible script … and an awful storyline.’
‘Pardon?’
‘This show. I’m asking for my money back.’
I say nothing. My heart’s beating against my rib cage. Please don’t tell me I’ve already been rumbled. I’ve only just started my acting career, and I already seem to be on the verge of crash and burn. I take another sip of coffee.
‘Let’s not go on about it.’ I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. No matter what else is going on, I’m not going to make a fool of myself with my own coffee moustache.
‘What else is there to go on about?’ Lily demands.
‘How about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘You were seeing someone.’
‘Still am.’
‘Lucky you.’
She shrugs off my attempts to change the conversation.
‘I’ll get you and Dan back together. I’m determined. I’ll just give him a while, and then I’ll start to work on him.’
Oh Lord, that’s all he needs.
‘Don’t,’ I snap. Because he’s got enough to deal with. ‘You know what he’s like. Once he makes up his mind, that’s it.’
‘And he can get things wrong,’ she snaps back.
I roll my eyes.
‘He’s messed me about once too often, Lily. You can say what you like and think what you like, but I’m telling you, I’m done with him.’
She leans down, opens her handbag and pulls out a notepad and pen. She scribbles down a number, tears out the page and hands it to me.
‘Here you go.’
‘What’s this?’
‘My number.’ Pursing her perfect little lips, she shoves the pen and notepad back into her bag. ‘For when you change your mind. Just get in touch.’
Without another word, she gets up, pushes back her chair and makes an exit, leaving me to stare at my reflection. My hair’s all over the place. My skin’s pale. Too much booze, not enough sleep, endless worry about Dan, a constant fight against the growing ache inside. No wonder I’m a mess.
‘So, that went well,’ I tell myself, remembering all too late that I’m not alone.
The man at the next table looks up from his mobile, holding eye contact for a few seconds before he too gets up and leaves.
I stop off for wine and make my way back down the High Street, peering over my shoulder every now and then, eyeing every single stranger who passes me. The man in the café is playing on my mind. It may be a fact that Dan’s never very far away … but then again, neither is Boyd. Shifting about in the shadows, he’s the cat and the mouse in this game, and it hits me again – wherever I go, whatever I do, I need to be constantly on guard.
I hear the music even before I reach the front door. Sliding the key into the lock, I’m greeted by a wall of sound, and a further wall of smell. I find Lucy slumped on a chair, a half-finished glass of wine in her hand, her head dipped. I can’t hear it above the sound of Adele’s ‘Someone Like You’, but I know she’s crying. Her shoulders are practically vibrating. I hit the stop button on her mobile and switch my attention to the frying pan. The brown goo’s transformed into a congealed, blackened mess – and it’s on the verge of catching fire.
‘What is this?’ I ask, turning off the gas.
‘It was lamb,’ she sobs, lifting her head. ‘And now it’s a mess.’ She blows out a breath. ‘Everything’s a mess.’
The urge to tell her the truth is almost overwhelming. I’m torturing my best friend by holding it back, and I hate myself for doing it. But judging by the state of her, if I let her know that Clive’s not lost, she’ll be off to see him in a heartbeat.
Very carefully, I prise the wine glass out of her hand, ease her off the chair and guide her to her bedroom. Once she’s tucked up in bed, I fetch the John Lennon CD from my bedroom, take it to the living room and slot it into the CD player. Locating track one, I lower the volume and listen. I know the song well. In each verse, Lennon struggles to say those three little words until finally, they come spilling out into the open, again and again.
Dan’s talking to me through music. He’s done it before and he’ll do it again. He loves his woman … and he always will.
Chapter Five
A good five hours of painting done today. Oblivious to the world and pausing only for cups of tea, I’ve been caught in a trance. But now I’m exhausted. It’s time to stop for the day. Perched on a stool, brush in hand, I stare at the calendar. Complete with three kittens in a basket, all glassy-eyed, October stares back at me. I lean over, flipping the calendar back to August and September, where I began to mark off each day with a blob of paint, a practice I quickly abandoned when I realised so many of the bloody things were slipping past. Since then, I’ve paid little attention to time, barely noticing when it switched up a gear and took the fast lane. But today, of all days, it’s not willing
