Page 52

Chapter 52

February 2011

After the pizza boxes have been carefully positioned on top of the overflowing recycling bin, Fiona gets out a pad of paper and a pen.

‘This is legal stuff, OK? I need to know how long you were together.’

‘Just over eight years. I thought he was The One, you know?’

Fiona nods, but she has slipped into work mode.

‘And who owns the house? Does it belong to both of you?’

‘No, it’s his.

He bought it ages ago and then rented it out while he was away.

I just assumed that when we got married .

.?. we were engaged too, did I mention that?

’

Fiona shakes her head.

‘You probably wouldn’t have seen my ring.

I didn’t wear it when I was working in case it got damaged.

What a joke.’ Tess rubs the empty channel on her finger.

‘We only moved back from Portugal in October. Our first Christmas in Scotland. Our first Hogmanay. I just don’t understand it.

’ She tries to sniff away the tears which are starting to roll down her cheeks.

‘I mean, we were happy . There was absolutely no indication that anything was wrong. Except he wasn’t bloody happy, was he?

And he lied over and over again, and let me believe everything was alright.

’

Fiona pushes a box of tissues across the table.

‘I know this is really hard, but I’m just going to keep going, OK?

’

Tess nods.

‘Next question. Joint property? A car? Anything in the house?’

‘It’s all his.

’ Tess looks at Fiona, suddenly alarmed.

‘Unless you count Baxter?’

‘I think Baxter is safe with you. Any joint debt? Loans?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Good. That makes it simpler, legally.’

‘But I have to find somewhere to live, and I don’t have much time.

Your firm has a property department, doesn’t it?

And I’ve seen the photographs of flats for rent in your office windows.

I thought you might know of somewhere that’s dog-friendly?

’

‘I can ask Alasdair, he deals with that side of the business. Do you have much stuff? Books? Furniture?’

Tess laughs for the first time.

‘One rucksack and a cross-breed terrier. There have been a lot of trips to the charity shops. I even wiped my laptop and my phone and sold them to that electrical place near the university. My whole life for all the time we were together was stored online, and I couldn’t bear to touch them.

’

Fiona stands up and retrieves the corkscrew from the dishwasher.

‘I’ll open another bottle.

You can stay here tonight.

The sofa pulls out into a bed and the kids are away until tomorrow.

’

‘Thanks. I’ll just need to take Baxter out for a last pee.

’

‘Of course.’ Fiona tussles with the cork.

*

The sitting room is big, but cosy, with squishy chairs and low lighting and real art on the walls.

Tess stands in the bay window and looks across at the windows of the flats opposite through the gap in the curtains.

‘This is just like that print you’ve got in the hall.

’

‘No, that’s Glasgow, the tenements are a different colour.

Red sandstone.’

‘Yes, but it’s the same sort of thing.

When you look out, you can see into other people’s lives.

There’s a family watching TV over there, and a woman doing the ironing.

And I can see a kid who probably doesn’t want to go to bed, having a story read to them.

You can see it all from here.

’

‘It’s one of the advantages of living high up; I always was a nosy parker.

’

‘Everyone looks as though they are where they ought to be.’ Tess sighs.

‘I was starting to be at the fringes of belonging here, but I’m not sure I feel that way any more.

’ She sits down and takes the glass Fiona is offering.

‘Thanks.’

Baxter settles at her feet.

Fiona hands over a bowl of Lindor truffles.

‘These have been in the freezer. No point in cheap chocolate at a time like this.’ She really wants to reach out and give Tess a hug, but a recent client with an adulterous husband had told her that being hugged was the worst thing.

All her friends thought they were being kind, but all it did was remind the woman of the person, and the future, she had lost.

Fiona hadn’t forgotten it.

Tess takes a truffle and pulls the twisted cellophane wrapping slowly between her fingers.

She pops the chocolate globe into her mouth, feels the cold outer shell crack and lets the whole thing dissolve slowly on her tongue.

She wonders briefly if Patrick has discovered that she has removed herself from their joint photo archive.

She had done it in the company of two big tubs of Ben & Jerry’s.

Hundreds and hundreds of images of them smiling at the camera, standing in front of European cathedrals and monuments, sitting in restaurants or side by side on trains and planes, and opening Christmas presents.

Trusting him. Everything they shared feels like a lifetime ago, and he doesn’t have the right to see her face again.

Not after all the lies.

They have all been permanently deleted. Every. Single. One.