Page 37 of A New Life in Amsterdam

True to his word, Abe turns up, as promised, with a chart of paint colours before rushing off to work.

Over a coffee, I look at the shades of red and green that he has picked out.

They’re all gorgeous. It’s going to be so difficult to choose between them.

What colours were used for the houseboat on Rosie and Jim?

That is the exact colour I want. I’m tempted to write to the BBC and ask them if they have the details in an archive somewhere.

The reds are all fabulous. Do I choose flame red or signal red, so that I look like a traffic light? Then there is emerald green, moss green, grass green and leaf green. How green do I want my windows and surrounds? Who would have thought choosing the right colour would be so difficult.

I eventually narrow it down and get my choice between two reds and two shades of green. I decide to get Hannah’s opinion since she is good at things like this.

I send the photos across on WhatsApp and hope she picks them up soon. In the meantime, I practise some of my Dutch.

‘Rood,’ I say. I’m sure that’s red in Dutch.

‘Groen,’ I say to myself. Then I check back in my book that I’ve got the word for green correct. My Dutch is finally getting somewhere, and I am understanding quite a bit and able to speak a lot more each day. Having a strict teacher has paid off.

As I’m making another coffee and am about to move on to the next level of Dutch, I see that Hannah has messaged back.

Hey, hope you’re having fun there. I think Rosie and Jim’s boat had a

darker green shade. Go for the darker one.

Thanks, love. Everything okay there?

Yeah, good. I held a party for Dad’s birthday. I’m still a bit

hungover.

Oh no. Must have been a fun party though.

I have been so busy socialising that it hadn’t occurred to me that it was that time of year already. Paul would have been fifty-eight yesterday.

Well, tell him happy birthday from me, hey.

I will. I told him you’re having the time of your life in

Amsterdam.

That’s nice. Were many at the party?

I can’t help wondering if Hannah invited Paul’s new girlfriend.

Do they all cosy up together now and play happy families without me?

I try not to let it get to me. After all, Hannah is grown up and Paul is my ex.

But it still hurts to think that another woman gets to see Hannah more than her mam does.

Yeah, about twenty of us. Anyway, I’d better go. Off for an interview

at a new bar that’s opening. Hoping to pick up some work. My backpacking

days are over and I can no longer sofa-surf with Dad’s family. I may do

a part-time interior design course.

I’m glad you’re getting life sorted. Give the family my love.

Will do. Love ya. Take care.

Hannah finishes the conversation by sending a photo of Paul’s party.

I recognise the house. Hannah must have arranged to hold the party at Paul’s sister’s place where she is temporarily staying.

It’s been modernised since I was last there but the fireplace in the background is instantly recognisable.

However, it isn’t the fireplace I’m worried about.

The photo shows everyone happy and smiling, and Hannah is standing with her arm around her dad.

On the other side of Paul is a woman who looks around the same age as him, perhaps a bit younger.

She looks sporty and surfy and everything I am not.

I never did enjoy water sports like Paul did.

I suppose he was brought up with surfing the Australian waves, whereas I only had the local community swimming pool to visit.

Paul looks happy in the photo. I can’t help comparing how he looked in photos with me.

Was he smiling as much as this? Perhaps not.

Moving back home seems to suit him and, if I am honest, his new girlfriend is probably more suited to him too.

I put the phone down, realising that our relationship coming to an end was hard but ultimately it was better for both of us. We are free to live our best lives now, with people who are more suited to us at this stage.

After my conversation with Hannah, I grab the paint chart and scribble a ring around the colours I have decided upon.

Hannah was right about the darker green.

I can’t wait to share my decision with Abe, so I rush down to the coffee shop for a chat and a hot chocolate.

I can hardly contain my excitement as I hurry down the canal on my bike.

With a big smile I open the door of the cafe and see Abe at the counter, talking to a woman in her forties.

His perfect smile dazzles as he jokes with her.

I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

I tell myself not to be so silly. He is nice to everyone; it is the way he is.

The woman laughs back with him and he hands her a coffee without charging her.

Abe is so busy chatting in Dutch to her that he still hasn’t noticed me standing near the door.

I shouldn’t be nosy but I can’t help listening in and trying my best to translate what they are talking about.

I can understand some of the words. Slowly I digest each word, repeating the sentence in my head and then translating it in English to myself.

Did Abe really just say, ‘Let me give you my number and we’ll arrange a date’?

I must have misinterpreted a word somewhere.

Abe surely wouldn’t do that to me. I trust him.

I watch closely as he gets a piece of paper, writes something down and hands it over to the woman.

I stare at them, not able to believe what I have just witnessed, when Abe spots me and waves like he doesn’t have a care in the world. How could he be so brazen?

I drop the paint chart and walk out the door.

To be fair to him, I guess we never had a conversation about being exclusive with each other, but I assumed he wouldn’t go around giving his number out to random women who come into the coffee shop.

Was all that talk about him not having been on a date with anyone for a long while the truth?

Perhaps he is a serial dater. What if he wasn’t truthful about Camilla? It could all have been one big lie.

I rush back out into the street and cycle straight across a bridge, oblivious to everything around me.

I hurry down the streets until I feel my heart racing and finally find myself near Dam Square.

I stop my bicycle to catch my breath and lean against a shop window.

Surely there must be some explanation? Could I have got the translation wrong?

But then my brain reminds me that he handed his number over and didn’t charge her for the drink, so it corresponds with what I think I heard.

Does Abe make a habit of giving out free drinks to women he likes?

As much as I want to convince myself that this is all some kind of linguistic mistake, I have to accept the truth.

I may have thought we were exclusive, but I got it wrong.

What surprises me is how disappointed I feel, despite promising myself that I wanted to keep things casual.

I begin to realise that I had started falling for him; something I promised I would never do.

How could I let myself get hurt like this?

I am so annoyed with myself for not seeing through it all after Camilla.

Perhaps she and I have more in common than I thought.

He probably did the same to her, but I was the other woman, and now he’s moving on to the next.

I pass the street organ near Dam Square, which always makes me smile, but not today.

Instead, I find myself fighting back tears as I rush through the crowds, realising that I am not living the dream with a handsome Dutchman by my side; instead I’m an invisible woman in her fifties who thought she could have it all.