Page 46 of Strap In

But Jean doesn’t recognise herself either, in the morning.

That ever-smiling, freckled woman has vanished from the mirror; only a tired shadow remaining.

She’d woken alone in their bed, the air impossibly still, and known even before checking Ava’s drawers that all her things would be gone.

Though Jean had waited until dawn spilled through the curtains, casting a pale glow over their bedroom, still Ava hadn’t joined her.

And Jean’s eyes, puffy and sore from crying, had drifted shut.

She must have packed in silence while Jean slept.

There isn’t a note or a text – not that Jean expects either. After all, what’s left to say?

Numb, she packs her things and tidies the house.

There’s no point in lingering – though the sun’s still bright in the sky, Jean can’t feel the warmth.

Scrubbing down the kitchen and bathroom at least gives her something to do.

Jean calls an Uber, locks the Baird family’s cottage, and tucks the key back into its safe.

The journey back to London passes in a similar blur, Jean’s chest knotting tighter with every passing mile. There is no reason now to look up from her book and smile. Nobody now to twine their ankle round hers like a cat.

She goes back to work the next day, determined to prove Ava wrong, to fill the emptiness that had plagued her with the firm’s hustle and bustle. To show all who had doubted it that Marianne’s ghost has not defeated her.

Helen greets Jean in the lobby, all business as if she’d never been away, which makes it easier to sink back into DDH’s routine.

But there’s a bouquet on her desk – chrysanthemums, freesias, birds of paradise in full bloom.

An elaborate arrangement with a discreet card, signed personally by Minerva’s CEO.

Jean drops it into the recycling bin. ‘Get rid of those.’

‘Ms Howard…?’

Jean sighs. ‘Take them home if you want, Helen. Just get those flowers out of my sight. And open a window.’

Helen does as she’s bid, carrying the arrangement out into a corner of the reception area. But even after she returns, Helen stares whenever she thinks Jean’s not looking. It’s impossible to settle into the Priestley tribunal she is preparing for in the face of such concern.

And she’s almost relieved when Peter arrives in the afternoon, fresh from the golf course, a shrink-wrapped charcuterie board for them to share for lunch. Helen slips from the room, and he launches into the update Jean has really been waiting for – the one neither of them wants committed to paper.

Marianne has been suspended. Caught in that strange limbo between joblessness and gainful employment. ‘They’re waiting,’ he says. ‘To see if we’ll take any further action against her or Minerva, since she was there representing them.’

‘No, I—’ Jean shakes her head. ‘No.’

‘I didn’t think so.’ He clears his throat. ‘You know, I was glad that you switched off so completely on your holiday. That you didn’t take your laptop or your work phone. Did you have a good time?’

Jean nods, unable to swallow her cracker, hoping her tan and freckles will speak for themselves.

But Peter doesn’t appear entirely convinced. He squeezes Jean’s shoulder. ‘My door’s always open to you, Jeanie. You know that, don’t you?’

Again, Jean nods. And he leaves her to it.

Peter, who has supported her through thick and thin.

There is, Jean realises, a good chance that he’d understand – be delighted, even – if she’d come to him with news of a female partner.

But Peter is not the only one who’d have an opinion.

Together, a pack of hyenas may bring down a lion.

And Jean cannot repay his trust by feeding DDH back through the rumour mill hot on the heels of their last scandal, or risk rebranding herself at a time when it’s more important than ever to project the image of stability.

She just about manages it too, reining in Edward, who had grown too bold in her absence, redirecting those left floundering after the Leonides contract fell through to other briefs and projects.

Jean steps up her training regimen, keen to burn off the extra pounds she’d gained luxuriating with Ava. Every day she works late, nothing now to lure her from the office. By the time she gets home, she has no spare energy to spend dwelling on her bed’s emptiness.

And yet, though nobody in her life had known what Ava was to her, somehow they all find ways to remind Jean of what she has lost. Bernard calls one evening, friendly as ever, asking how they’d enjoyed Hamilton .

And Jean’s overwhelmed by the memory of Ava’s fingers linked with hers in the dark; of Ava attempting to sing every single part as she’d performed the musical in her shower, mostly succeeding.

At brunch, Naomi and Cora push her for more salacious details about Aiden, ignoring Jean’s reticence and Imogen’s attempts to redirect the conversation.

‘Really, Jean.’ Naomi twirls her cocktail glass, the margarita sloshing against the sides but never quite spilling over. ‘A beach holiday, a toyboy lover, and a promotion on the horizon – you could spread the joy a little.’

‘Work’s busy, is all. There’s lots to do before the handover – but I’m fine.’

‘Are you?’ Cora’s dark eyes are alert. ‘You don’t seem happy about much at all, lately.’

‘Did things end with Aiden? Is that what’s got you down?’ Naomi’s hand covers her wrist.

‘You two need to stop,’ Imogen says, an edge of warning in her voice. ‘Whatever it is, Jean can tell us in her own time.’

‘Nonsense.’ Cora drains her drink, gesturing to the waiter for another. ‘What are girlfriends for, if not sharing your problems?’

Laughter bubbles up Jean’s throat. Even before offering to be her girlfriend, Ava had been there whenever she needed her.

Listened when Jean wanted to talk. Held Jean when she wasn’t ready to speak.

Nobody since Mari has made her feel so seen, and even then, Mari had never been safe the way Ava is.

‘You’re right,’ Jean says, realising all three of them are still watching her.

‘It ended the day I came back from Edinburgh, and I’ve felt lost ever since. ’

‘I’m sorry, Jean. It can be difficult when these things end. But let’s face it, you went in knowing that it was never going to last.’

‘Jesus, Naomi.’ Imogen gets into it with the two of them, distracting Naomi and Cora long enough for Jean to try and gather her thoughts. But the back and forth between them rattles round her skull like a pinball, knocking the last of her doubts loose.

‘It could have,’ Jean whispers.

‘You always think that you know best, that you’re the moral arbiter of our little group. But—’

‘It could have.’ Too late the conviction comes.

Cora and Naomi exchange a glance. ‘Darling—’

‘I’m serious. If you want the whole sordid story, you’re welcome to it.

But there’s one vital piece of information you need to know before we go any further.

’ Jean’s hand trembles as she lifts her cocktail glass, half the margarita spilling out the corner of her mouth.

She reaches for a napkin and dabs at her chin while her three oldest friends stare.

‘There never was any Aiden. I panicked and made up a cover story, because I was embarrassed about the truth.’

Cora’s Botoxed brow barely wrinkles, though she frowns. ‘What?’

‘Then who…?’ Naomi blinks slowly. ‘Then who were you having it off with? Who was he?’

Imogen cuts her a glare. ‘Jean might have an easier time telling us who they were if you didn’t keep interrupting her.’

‘They? Were there multiple somebodies? Was this a polyamory situation, or an orgy?’

Jean has to look away from Naomi’s searching gaze. She trails her fingertip across a scratch in the wooden tabletop. ‘Neither. The truth is, she is a woman. Her name is Ava. She came to Edinburgh with me.’

Naomi’s laughter is sharp and clear as broken glass, cutting Jean to ribbons. ‘You’re joking, right? She is joking?’

A moment later Naomi gives a sharp gasp, and Jean’s almost certain Imogen kicked her underneath the table.

‘Ava… as in that woman from the hospital?’ Cora’s brows draw together as, at last, the pieces fall into place.

‘It’s not a joke. It started as a hook-up, and became…

’ Jean sniffs. Takes a deep breath. Her composure, her dignity, might be all that she has left by the end of this.

She grasps the soggy napkin, twisting and tearing it to shreds in her lap.

‘I don’t have the words to describe it. What we were to each other.

It was so unlike anything I’ve ever known. ’

‘Bloody hell!’ Cora sinks back against her seat, and even without looking, Jean can picture her incredulous expression. ‘That’s why she was so sore about the whole Aiden situation. But it can’t be serious, can it? You were married to Henry, for goodness’ sake.’

But Ginny cuts through this line of enquiry, reaching under the table to interrupt the napkin shredding as she takes Jean’s hand. ‘Would you like to tell us about her? Ava?’

A crack runs through Jean’s voice, and she rushes to get the words out, knowing it’s only a matter of time before her throat completely splinters under their weight.

The subtle pressure of Imogen’s fingers is the only thing holding her together.

‘She was falling in love with me. But I was too much of a coward to admit that I felt the same way. I said things. Stupid, unforgivable things. And she left me.’

Imogen passes her a dry napkin, and Jean presses it to her eyes, burning like she’s run through tear gas.

‘But…’ Cora drums her fingernails on the table. ‘You’re not a lesbian now, are you?’

Jean’s still fumbling for an answer when Naomi speaks. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Nobody magically wakes up gay. Certainly not at our age. Whatever this is, it’s bound to pass.’