‘Hi, Ruth.’

‘Ava, you still sound terrible.’

I know, and I probably look terrible, too. ‘I’m feeling much better, Ruth.’ That’s because I’ve just emptied my stomach again.

‘Oh good. Can we arrange a meeting?’ She doesn’t sound so concerned for me, anymore.

‘Is there a problem?’ I ask, hoping to God there isn’t. I’m trying to keep this project as smooth as possible because even though Ruth seems pleasant enough, I predict a tricky customer if things don’t go her way.

‘No problem. I just want to clarify a few details.’

‘We can do that over the phone.’ I prompt.

‘I would prefer to see you.’ she informs me. I sag in my chair. Of course she would. She always prefers to see me. Her final invoice is going to be astronomical. One hour here and two hours there. She’ll have spent more money on my time than on the actual works. ‘Today.’ she adds.

I sag further on an audible groan. I am not ending my shitty week with Ruth Quinn. I practically started it with Ruth on Tuesday, and I’ve had a mid-week interlude on Wednesday. Anyway, it’s three in the afternoon. Does she think she’s my only client? I wouldn’t mind, but she spends ten minutes clarifying what has already been clarified, then the next hour feeding me endless cups of tea and trying to convince me to join her for drinks.

‘Ruth, I really can’t do today.’

‘You can’t?’ She sounds irritated.

‘Monday?’ Why did I say that? I’ll be starting my week off with Ruth Quinn again.

‘Monday. Yes. We’ll do Monday. Eleven okay?’

‘I can do eleven.’ I flick through my diary and pencil her in.

‘Lovely.’ She’s back to chirpy Ruth. ‘Have you anything nice planned for the weekend?’

I stop writing, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. I don’t have anything nice planned for the weekend, apart from nursing my breaking heart, but before I can really consider what I’m about to say, I come right out and say it. ‘No, nothing much.’

‘Oh? Me either.’ She’s going to do it again, I know it. ‘We should do drinks!’

My forehead hits the desk. She either can’t, or simply won’t, take a hint. I pull my heavy head up. ‘Actually, Ruth. I said nothing much, but I’m visiting my parents in Cornwall. It’s not much really, not fun, anyway.’

She laughs. ‘Don’t let your parents hear you say that!’

I force myself to laugh along with her. ‘I won’t.’

‘Well, have a nice weekend doing nothing much with your parents, and I’ll see you on Monday.’

‘Thanks, Ruth.’ I hang up and glance at the clock. Another hour and I can escape.

* * *

I drag my exhausted body up the stairs to Kate’s flat and head straight for the kitchen, opening the fridge and being immediately confronted with a bottle of wine. I just stare at it. I don’t know how long for, but my eyes are fixed on the damn thing. It takes the sound of a very familiar voice to pull my eyes away, and I turn, seeing Kate, but hers wasn’t the familiar voice that caught my attention. Dan walks in. They both look as guilty as sin.

‘What’s going on?’ I ask, slamming the fridge door. Kate flinches, but remains quiet. My brother doesn’t, though.

‘None of your business.’ he snipes, slipping his hand around Kate’s waist from behind, and then kissing her cheek. This is the first time I’ve seen or spoken to him since my wedding, and it’s not playing out to be a happy reunion, either. He frowns at me. ‘Maybe I should ask you what’s going on. Why are you here?’

I freeze in position and flick wide eyes to Kate, catching her very faint head shake. She’s not told him. ‘Just swinging by after work.’ I return my eyes to Dan. ‘When are you going back to Australia?’

‘Dunno.’ He shrugs, brushing my question off rapidly. ‘I’m off.’

‘Bye.’ I spit, turning and re-opening the fridge to grab that bottle of wine. It shouldn’t be happening, given my own current state of affairs, but I can’t help interfering on this. Kate is asking for trouble, and I’m liking my brother less and less by the day. I never thought I’d be glad to see the back of him. I ignore the exchange of goodbyes going on behind me and focus my attention on pouring a big glass of wine.

By the time I’ve sipped half, I hear footsteps going down the stairs, and I turn to face my stupid, red head friend. ‘Are you fucking mad?’ I wave my wine glass at her.

‘Probably,’ she grumbles, sitting herself down on a chair and signalling for some wine. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Fine!’ I grab another glass and pour some, passing it over the table to her. ‘You really are getting yourself in a mess.’

She scoffs and takes a quick slurp. ‘Ava, shall we re-evaluate the situation here? You’re the one who’s been married for less than a week, has left your husband and is knocked up.’

I recoil at her harshness as she eyes up the glass I’m clenching. I’m instantly on the defence. ‘I’m a few weeks. Some women don’t find out until they’re three months.’ I’m trying to dampen down the burning guilt that’s simmering in my gut.

She gets up, climbs onto the worktop and lights a cigarette. ‘A few drinks won’t hurt you, not that it matters.’ she says, opening the kitchen window and draping her arm over the ledge.

‘Not that what matters?’ I frown, and take a more reluctant sip.

‘Well, you’re getting rid of it, aren’t you?’ She raises her pale brows at me.

The insensitive words spike at my conscience, but it doesn’t stop me slurping more wine. I think I’m more in denial now than I ever was. ‘Yes.’ I mutter, sinking onto a chair, my thoughts wandering off somewhere.

‘Right!’ Kate’s assertive tone snaps me from my reverie. ‘We’re going out.’

‘Are we?’ I blurt. That’s the last thing I want to do.

‘Yes, I’m not letting you mope around any longer. Has he called?’ She takes a drag of her fag and looks at me expectantly.

I wish I could say yes. ‘No,’

Her lips purse, and I know she’s thinking it’s strange, too. ‘Get showered. We’re going for a quiet drink, not too much, though.’ she looks at my glass. ‘Not that it matters, I suppose.

‘I don’t think so,’ I shake my head, her further blasé words eating me up inside. She sighs and flicks her cigarette butt from the window before closing it and lowering herself down. ‘Come on, Ava. We’ve not been out together for weeks. Just a sensible glass, and a chat, not about Jesse or Sam or Dan, just us two like old times, before all of these men got between us.’ By old times, she means post-Matt and pre-Jesse. We did have some laughs in those four weeks, before The Lord of the Sex Manor turned my life upside down.

‘Okay,’ I get up from the table. ‘You’re right. I’ll get ready.’

‘Fab!’

‘Thank you for not telling Dan why I’m here.’

She smiles and we leave the kitchen together to get ready for a quiet drink and a chat.

* * *

He’s constantly on my mind, and I’m trying my hardest to put him to the back, but when we walk into Baroque and the first person I see is Jay, the doorman, I give in. He frowns at me as I walk past, dropping all conversation with a fellow guard, but I proceed to the bar without a word to the obviously curious skinhead.

‘Wine?’ Kate asks, as she muscles in at the bar.

‘Please,’ I cast my eyes around our preferred watering hole and immediately spot Tom and Victoria. I don’t even feel bad for being disappointed that they’re here. I tap Kate on the shoulder and she turns her head slightly. ‘Did you know they would be here?’ I ask.

‘Who?’

I nod in the direction of my gay friend and sassy, sometimes a bit dim, work colleague who are dancing over. They have no idea what’s happening in my life. ‘Barbie and Ken.’ I quip dryly. I can tell by Kate’s eye roll that she didn’t.

‘Love the dress!’ Tom croons, stroking my midriff.