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Chapter 18

Margot

I hold my breath as the front door opens, delaying the inevitable sight and stench that awaits. If the kids and Nicu have spent the weekend vomiting, then the house will need either fumigating or burning down and rebuilding. But as I step inside, it’s not as bad as I thought.

My suitcase has barely touched the floor when Nicu appears. Over his shoulder I spot his parents in my lounge, glaring at me with their piggy little eyes. He must have rallied the stormtroopers to assist while he and the kids were under the weather.

‘How the hell did you spend so much money in two days?’ he demands to know.

I thought I might have a grace period before Nicu noticed I’ve drained our account. And by then, I might’ve found a way to pay it back without him noticing. But I forgot he’s set up push notifications that flash up on his phone every time a payment has been made. Bloody technology shafts me again.

‘It was a misunderstanding,’ I say. ‘I didn’t realise I was going to have to pay for my stay or my treatments.’

‘You said the weekend was Liv’s treat.’

I lower my voice. ‘Can we not do this here?’

I lead him upstairs, leaving him to pick up my suitcase and his parents to imagine our conversation. I bet they’ve been egging him on because I’ll never match up to his ex. Even if she was a mad, vindictive bitch. I thank my lucky stars they stay at a hotel each time they travel to the UK. I don’t want to put up with them, let alone put them up.

I try to explain to him the misunderstanding over the vouchers but he can’t understand why I didn’t ask to split the bill three ways.

I let out a half-laugh, half-snort. ‘And have her think I can’t pay my way? Have you met me, Nicu? I’m not a charity case.’

‘But you are someone who can’t pay your own way, because you don’t work.’

‘And whose fault is that?’

‘ Iar ?ncepem ,’ he mutters. He always reverts to his native tongue when he’s angry.

‘In English,’ I say.

‘I’ve moved on and rebuilt my career, and you need to do the same.’

I unzip my suitcase and begin removing my clothes. He shakes his head at the half a dozen moisturisers and oils I also purchased.

‘It’s easy for you because you’re a man,’ I huff. ‘The public has forgiven you. They don’t forgive women. Especially other women. There’s no work for me out there.’

‘ Rahat .’

I recognise that one, it means ‘bullshit’.

‘We share a manager, remember?’ he says. ‘Geri tells me each time she comes to you with a job offer, you turn it down.’

‘And does she tell you why I turn them down? Because they’re beneath me. Margot Rosetti is better than the shitty little reality programmes Geri keeps trying to talk me into. I am not going to jerk off a pig on a farm to entertain the public. I’m not going to be locked in a coach with a group of TikTok tossers for a holiday from hell in Hungary. Haven’t I been humiliated enough for you?’

‘You are only as good as your last job, and you don’t have a last job.’

I throw my make-up bag on to the bed. ‘So you’re saying I’m good for nothing? Is that it?’

Nicu knows he’s stepped too far over the line and backtracks. ‘That’s not what I meant. I’m saying you need to go back to work.’

‘I find it difficult, you know that. You heard my therapist when she diagnosed me with PTSD.’

‘She wasn’t a therapist; she was someone you talked to on X.’

‘She had a PhD in psychology.’

‘Which you only have her word for. And if you do have PTSD, what have you done to try and overcome it? Nothing. You use it as an excuse to sit around doing nothing all day but spending my money.’

‘ Once! I got to pamper myself once in Christ knows how long, and now you’re punishing me for it.’

‘You can pamper yourself every day of the week as far as I care, as long as you’re paying for it. Enough is enough, Margot.’

He is too bloody stupid to realise I haven’t only done this for myself. I hoped my refresh might make him notice me again. I’m sick of being his blind spot.

‘You’re not spending another penny until you get a job,’ he adds. ‘I’m the primary name on our bank accounts. I can have all your credit cards cancelled with one phone call unless you sort yourself out.’

As he leaves the room, I hurl the first thing at him that comes to hand, a bottle of nail polish remover. It hits the door and the bottle bursts, spraying a sharp-smelling liquid across the wallpaper and carpet.

If he thinks I’m cleaning that up, he has another think coming.