This is Not a Love Story

Chapter Twenty-Two

I’ve bought a set of scales with my first paycheck from Frederick’s. Last time I weighed myself was at Cecilia’s house a few months ago, when I’d escaped the worst dinner party of my life (due entirely to Martin giving a full nutritional breakdown of every item Cecilia served) and hid in the bathroom for ten minutes. David had adorned her scales with obscene amounts glitter and star confetti, which was all well and good until you stepped off and left evidence of your recent weighing all over the house like a crime scene.

I was significantly heavier than I had been last time I’d checked. Although to be perfectly honest, last time I weighed myself I was eighteen, and I haven’t exactly been kind to myself in the intervening years — the last few weeks aside.

So now I’ve been running most days and I’ve gone vegan, I’m expecting a pretty dramatic result. I don’t feel like I look any different, but you never notice it on yourself, do you? We all have a distorted view of what we look like, everyone knows that. I’m sure I’m nearly down to my old weight.

I take a deep breath and step onto the scales, praying that eighteen-year-old me will emerge on the screen.

I do a double take when the number finalises.

What?

It’s lower than when I last checked.

By a pound.

A pound? A single, solitary, shitty pound?!

I step off the scales angrily and wait for them to go back to zero before stepping on again; maybe it’s because they’re new, they need time to get accurate.

This time, it’s gone up a pound.

I jump off quickly, horrified. The number is growing by the second. What is this?!

I stomp out of the bathroom in a rage, livid at life. How is it possible that I’ve been working this hard and it hasn’t paid off?

Shoving a sweet potato brownie (surprisingly good) in my mouth, I go into the bedroom to get changed into the new dress I’ve bought for the staff do tonight. I’m just wrenching my t-shirt over my head when the buzzer goes.

‘Hello?’

‘Delivery for Margaret Gardiner.’

What? I haven’t ordered anything, I don’t think. I send him up anyway and a few seconds later he raps at the door.

‘Sign here, please.’ I do, and he thrusts a box in my hand before slouching off.

This is so exciting! Maybe it’s a present. Something from Mum, maybe? Or a gift from Gary, maybe a little flower arrangement or a necklace or something... no! Stop it, Maggie, you weirdo. This isn’t the 1920s.

What if it’s a threat? It’s got my name on it but I don’t recognise any of the sender details. What if someone’s got it in for me, Theo perhaps, and is sending me a giant explosive, or a bag of glitter I’ll never be able to hoover up, or a stink bomb ?!

I open the package tentatively, just in case I activate whatever is inside, and am mildly disappointed when I finally get it unwrapped.

It’s my weight-loss tea.

Well, maybe this is how I’ll shed those extra pounds! Granted, it’s only a four-day supply, but if it’s as good as Kim Kardashian says it is then that’s probably all it takes.

I make a cup and head back into the bedroom, balking a little at the smell the teabag is producing. It’s a heady mixture of feet and mushrooms. That’s probably how it works, though, isn’t it? Makes you feel so queasy you never eat again.

My dress looks really good, actually. I stand and turn from side to side in the mirror, wondering when the last time was that I went out for the evening in something that didn’t have legs. I send a picture to Saffron and she pings back immediately: ‘Slay, queen! You look incredible!’

I feel feminine and sassy, and a little jolt fires through me at the thought of Gary seeing me dressed up.

I’m going to do simple hair and dramatic make-up, I decide, and show Theo, Rachael and the rest of them that my life without them is just dandy, thank you very much.

Gary will be here in an hour to pick me up, so I run my shitty hoover around the apartment half-heartedly, tugging my dress down every time I bend over. Then I load up a YouTube tutorial for winged liner, neck my tea, gag and head into the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, I step back and take in the scene in front of me. I look like I’ve been punched. Worse still, one of my flicks is pointing directly sideways, while the other extends alarmingly up, merging with the end of my eyebrow hairs.

I scrunch my face up and let out a long moan, but that makes me look even uglier so I slam the laptop shut and set about scrubbing my face raw.

This stuff will not come off.

It simply will not.

I’m on my third make-up removal product, having exhausted soap and micellar water, and my eyes are still ringed with black. It has travelled under my eyes, giving me huge, grey bags and making me look like an extra from The Corpse Bride . My shitty attempts at ‘sweeping strokes’ are still firmly attached to my eyelids, the middle of them hollowed out, like a tea stain.

I contemplate nail polish remover, but settle on more scrubbing with a cotton pad and some toner. By the time it eventually comes off I’ve aged myself about fifty years. My eyes are puffy and red and I look like a pig.

Gary will be here in ten minutes, so I quickly slap on some foundation and an entire bucket of concealer, along with a bit of mascara and some red lipstick. Not OK.

I am just shaking my hair out of its bobble and coming to terms with the fact that, due to time constraints, it will have to stay au naturel (frizzy and limp, all at the same time) when the doorbell rings.

‘Sorry, I tailgated someone into the building.’ Gary smiles sheepishly. He’s wearing a deep maroon shirt and smart jeans. I want to eat him and, simultaneously, slam the door in his face. ‘Have you been crying?’

‘Don’t ask, please.’ I usher him inside with my head bowed, begging the swelling to go down. ‘You look lovely.’

‘Thanks. Not too shabby yourself.’ He holds out a bottle of wine and I lunge on it far too enthusiastically.

‘Bad day?’ He laughs.

‘Good day, bad hour.’ I crack open the top and pour us two large glasses, my hands shaking. God, I’m nervous.

‘How you feeling about tonight?’ He says as he sinks onto the sofa. I sit opposite him on the armchair.

‘Weird. I don’t really know.’ I hope he thinks I’m anxious about seeing everyone, and not because of him.

I’ve been feeling good about tonight. Of course, there’s a part of me that wants to show all of them how fine I am; how well I’ve landed on my feet. But there’s another part that really hopes they discussed inviting me and wanted me there, actually looked forward to seeing me. I’ve imagined them welcoming me back, giving me the chance to apologise for embarrassing them, and maybe even apologising to me for treating me like an underdog for so long.

I’m jiggling my leg up and down and I force myself to stop. He’s going to think I’m nuts. He wouldn’t be wrong.

‘I like your apartment.’ He scans his eyes across the overflowing bookcase. ‘You really love to read, huh? Nick those from work?’

‘Nope, all bought with my own hard-earned cash.’ I raise my glass.

He wanders over and pulls out a battered copy of The Catcher in the Rye. ‘God, I remember reading this at school. So depressing.’

‘Do not insult J.D. Salinger under this roof.’ I poke him in the leg.

‘You know this was censored in the USA for ages. They thought it was communist propaganda.’ He flips it over in his hands. So he’s funny and intelligent. Interesting.

‘It’s one of my favourites.’ I take it back from him and slide it back into place before he can open it and see all my weird margin scribbles. ‘All that rebellion and crisis of identity. I love it.’

‘It speaks to you?’ He smiles and tucks a frizzy hair behind my ear. ‘That doesn’t surprise me.’

It’s really, really hot in here.

I duck from his gaze and cough unattractively, wandering over to the window and swinging it open. I think the make-up remover chemicals have gone to my head.

‘So, you promised to tell me about yourself.’ I take a deep breath and turn around. Gary is watching me with a small smile, his head cocked.

‘What do you want to know?’ He sits down again.

‘Everything.’

‘Well, my name is Gary. I’m twenty-eight years old. I’m a software developer. And I hate my parents for calling me Gary.’

‘Me too!’ I say shrilly. ‘I mean, for calling me Margaret.’

‘ Margaret? ’ He almost chokes on his wine.

‘What did you think Maggie was short for?’

‘I don’t know . . . MagBeth?’

‘. . . MagBeth.’ I laugh. ‘Mag Beth? ’

We’re both laughing now, that kind of silent, shaking laugh where you’re staring at each other, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes.

I calm myself and take a sip of my wine, sighing. ‘So, software development. Is that... interesting?’

‘I think it is, obviously. But you probably won’t.’ He grins.

‘Hey! How do you know?’ Does he think I’m thick?

‘Nobody does, really, unless you’re really into it. It’s all numbers and algorithms and code.’

I am silent for a second. ‘No, that sounds pretty boring to be honest.’

He laughs, his face almost splitting in two. He has such a huge mouth. ‘Told you.’

‘So where do you live?’ I ask. I’m always nervous about asking people this question; it has such potential to sound stalkerish, people can get a bit weird about it. I’m not asking for his address, though, am I? Just his general area.

Thinking about it, I’d quite like to see his general area.

No you wouldn’t, Maggie! That would lead to shagging and mortgages and engagement rings and that is not what you want!

‘Just behind Piccadilly. Not the Northern Quarter, the shit part outside the ring road.’

‘Can’t be as shit as this.’ I gesture around my dull, decaying living room.

‘You’d be surprised.’

I pour us another glass of wine and take it with me as I get my shoes and jacket together. I transfer the contents of my bag into a different one, receipts and all. Who are those weirdos who can be bothered to clean out their handbag? I’ve got a receipt from 2014 that jumps from bag to bag with me, along with an old tampon wrapper and an unused piece of chewing gum. It’s like an archaeological dig of my life.

‘Shall we go?’ I down my wine and Gary does the same, moving away from the window where he’s been looking at the street below.

‘I love your amaryllis.’

‘My what?’ I blush. Why does that sound like a pet-name for someone’s hoo-ha? Surely he wouldn’t tell me he loved my hoo-ha at this stage in the evening? He hasn’t even seen it yet. Yet — Jesus Christ, why won’t my brain behave?

‘Your plant here.’ He points to Veronica. ‘It’ll have flowers soon.’

‘Oh.’ I blush even harder at my own assumptions, even though he doesn’t know what they were. Thank god. I guess I was right, in a way though. He loves my flower. Ew, I hate myself. ‘What’s it called, again?’

‘Amaryllis.’

‘How do you know that?’ Nana knows loads of stuff about plants, I should have asked her really. My knowledge extends to being able to tell the difference between a daffodil and a daisy.

‘I was really into gardening when I was younger. Don’t laugh!’ He says when he sees my face. ‘Every flower has a meaning, I think it’s interesting.’

‘What does that one mean?’ I ask, finishing tying the lace on my brogues and opening the front door. I stand out in the corridor and he follows, shutting the door behind me.

‘Worth beyond beauty,’ he says.

* * *

We walk through town and past the crowds of post-work drinkers, swarming out onto the pavements to light cigarettes while their bosses buy the rounds. We’re turning the corner onto Edge Street when someone grabs my arm.

‘Maggie Gardiner?’

I look at her for a second, because I can’t believe my eyes. It can’t be.

‘It’s me! Emma Penton. From school?’

Oh my god, it is. It’s her. She looks... different. She’s wearing a gorgeous A-line skirt and a loose blouse with white trainers, and tiny, pretty tattoos are dotted around her wrists. But her make-up is cakey around her forehead, and her hair is a bit greasy.

‘Emma!’ I squeal eventually. ‘Hi! How are you?’

‘ Amazing. ’ She nods aggressively. ‘Really, really good.’

‘Great!’ I smile at her. She’s swaying on the spot. Is she pissed?

‘Head of Marketing now.’ She smiles and her eyes lose focus.

‘Good for you, congratulations!’ I grin harder.

‘Been to Santorini. Going to South Africa next month. With my boyfriend. He’s a lawyer.’

‘Sounds lovely.’

‘Got a lot of followers now.’ She hiccups and looms towards my face. ‘Have you seen?’

‘I have! Congratulations.’ My face hurts.

‘What are you doing now?’ She squints.

‘Oh, well, I’m working at Frederick’s, actually—’

‘ Amazing! Listen, I’d love to chat,’ she pouts, ‘but I am so pushed for time. I’ll check your Insta — do I follow you? — then you don’t have to tell me everything right this second. ’ She laughs. ‘Do you have X? LinkedIn? Let’s connect!’

‘Oh, yeah. I do.’ I feel an embarrassing urge to impress her, to prove that I’m not failing as badly as I seem to be. ‘I’ve got a WordPress blog as well, so there’s loads of things on there—’

‘Mmm, yep, wow. Anyway, babe, so lovely to see you.’ She wraps a skinny arm around my neck. ‘Can we meet? Brunch? Something? Text me.’

And she’s gone, staggering up the street, going over on her ankle as she scurries around in her bag for her phone.

Gary raises his eyebrows. ‘I didn’t know you had a blog.’

I don’t say anything. I feel sick and cheap, like I just gave my virginity to a guy who didn’t give a fuck about me. I haven’t told anybody about the blog, and there I go blurting it out to her: like me, like me, like me.

I keep watching her as she rounds the corner, a tag hanging out from the back of her skirt.

Gary coughs. ‘No offence, but she seemed like a bit of a twat.’

I look up at him, taking in his kind eyes and big mouth and floppy hair.

‘Yeah, she did, didn’t she?’

* * *

Common Bar is absolutely heaving. As we walk inside, I get that exposed feeling that comes with entering a bar and looking for people you know in the crowd, aware that the people you’re searching for could be watching you. I can tell you now, it’s especially bad when the people you’re looking for think you’re clinically nuts. I get a strong urge to hold Gary’s hand for comfort, but that would be wildly inappropriate.

It’s in situations like this that I’m glad I smoke. A reason to sneak outside and escape the throngs for a while. My hands flutter towards my cigarettes. Gary leans into my ear. ‘Breathe, MagBeth.’

I’m hit by a renewed surge of confidence and a swell of gratitude; how lucky am I? It’s so good to have such a supportive new friend. I emphasise the last word in my head, trying to condition my mind into believing what I want it to. Part of me feels this might be a mistake, though. Introducing him to all the people who hate me — and potentially exposing him to the ridiculous behaviour of mine that seems to emerge whenever I see them — is probably not the best setting for a second date. Date! There I go again.

I spot the back of Kelsey’s head in the corner and grab Gary’s arm, dragging him to the bar. We manage to catch the bartender’s eye and I order two pints and two shots of tequila, which we knock back immediately.

‘Dutch courage sorted, come on. Where are they?’ Gary grabs his pint and scans the room, as though he’ll be able to spot them.

‘In the corner,’ I shout over the music and he drags me over.

Theo clocks me first.

His eyes widen and his mouth drops open. He immediately nudges Rachael, who is sitting to his left, as though I can’t see him.

‘Hey, guys.’ I smile and squeeze onto the end of the bench next to Kelsey, who looks at me nervously.

‘Hi!’ She gives me a half hug and turns back to the table. Rachael is eyeing her suspiciously. Everybody else murmurs their greetings and stares at their drinks, the conversation halted by my arrival.

Oh, good. This is nice.

‘I’m Gary,’ Gary says and shakes everyone’s hand, smiling as they all look at him incredulously. ‘Maggie’s friend.’

‘ Hello .’ Theo leans forward enthusiastically and grabs Gary’s hand. ‘ Such a pleasure.’

‘Hi, Theo,’ I interject.

He narrows his eyes, reluctantly releasing Gary. ‘Good evening, Margaret.’

‘I wanted to apologise.’ I don’t even know I’m going to say it until it’s out of my mouth. But I need to, I realise. Theo treated me like a second-class citizen, but I embarrassed him in front of fifty important people, potentially damaging his reputation forever. I might not have given a shit about my career, but he cared about his, and it wasn’t fair.

‘OK.’ Theo leans back and appraises me, loving being the victim. Did I expect any less?

‘I’m so sorry about the way I behaved. All of it. It was completely unprofessional and I didn’t think about you and your reputation, only about how unhappy and angry I was. I was wrong and I’m sorry.’ I look him dead in the eyes, hoping he knows I mean it.

He blinks. ‘Unhappy?’

‘Well, yeah. Obviously.’ If he starts going on about mortgages and responsibilities and other ‘reasons to be unhappy’ again I will scream.

‘About what? I was giving you a chance!’ He squawks, his face colouring.

‘A chance? You took me there as your minute-taker!’ Calm down, Maggie. I have to be careful not to get back into this. I’ve apologised, I can’t bring it all back up.

‘Don’t you think Kelsey could have taken minutes?’ he says, ‘Or Rachael? Or anyone, really?’

‘But you said you needed me because of my neat handwriting...’

‘Oh, for god’s sake. You thought that was the only reason I asked you to come?’ He looks around at everyone incredulously.

‘Well, it’s what you said, so . . .’

‘I thought you were serious about making something of yourself as a science writer. I thought you could network, get some good information to improve your pieces.’ He shakes his head. ‘But you just flipped .’

‘But—’ I stop myself. Have I been completely stupid? Was I so wrapped up in how miserable I was, so blinkered by my determination to hate that job and everything it stood for, that I couldn’t see when someone was offering me an opportunity that other people would have killed for? I’m a complete tool.

‘Theo, I had no idea. I’m so sorry. I just... I thought... you know what? It doesn’t matter what I thought. Thank you for giving me that chance. I’m sorry I ruined it.’ It takes everything in me not to lean across the table and shake him, ask him why he couldn’t have been more straight-forward; hug him, apologise for misunderstanding. It’s confusing.

‘I hated letting you go.’ He looks me in the eye for the first time. ‘You were a good worker when you weren’t having one of your moments.’

My brain rewinds to the day I was fired. Theo was in his element, wasn’t he? He loved it. I’m sure he did. Didn’t he? Could it be that I’ve misinterpreted everything? That his anger at the HR meeting wasn’t because he was sick of me and couldn’t wait for me to leave, but because he was so frustrated that I’d put us both in that awful position?

There’s nothing I can say, so I nod, and for a moment, peace and understanding pass between us.

‘Hormones, hey? They make you do the craziest things.’ He sighs, and I laugh my head off. In another world, with a different dynamic, I’d probably have adored Theo.

Ben asks what I’m doing now and I fill them in, appreciating their attempt at masking their horror when I say I’m working in a bookshop. They tell me nothing has changed at the office, but that my replacement will be starting on Monday. I don’t feel sad. That chapter ended a long time ago for me.

Theo checks his phone and jumps up, scooting out of his chair and striding across the bar. Gary takes his seat.

I turn to Kelsey. ‘I haven’t heard from you in a while.’

‘Ugh, I really wanted to avoid this conversation.’ She crinkles her eyebrows together.

‘What do you mean?’

She runs her hand through her hair. ‘All right, I’m just going to come out and say it. It’s just — and don’t take this the wrong way — I couldn’t let you hold me back anymore, Mags. You hated that place so much it was contagious. You were determined to fuck it up for yourself, one way or another. And when you left like that... I didn’t want it to affect me. I know that’s selfish. I decided to make a real stab at things over there, you know? Stop crying and applying for other positions and actually give it a go. There’s another sales rep position opening up next month.’

I expect to feel offended, or upset, but I don’t. I never wanted that life, and if she had to let me go to get it then I can’t blame her. ‘I get that. You’ve got your goals. I really hope you get it. I mean it.’ I squeeze her arm.

She leans her head on my shoulder for a second. ‘Sorry, Mags.’

I gaze around the room and spot Theo standing by the bar, talking to an absolutely gorgeous man in an expensive-looking jumpsuit. I vaguely catch the words ‘Romulus’, ‘illness’ and ‘heartbroken’. That poor sod.

Rachael makes a joke and Kelsey laughs too loudly. Gary raises his eyebrows at me across the table. I’m happy; I’ve behaved really well and acted on impulse a total of zero times. Gary has no idea I’m secretly absolutely crackers. Aside from the stories I told him the other evening, of course. He probably thinks I over-embellished a bit, hammed it up for entertainment value. If only.

I glance over at the bar again. Jumpsuit man is on his own, staring warily at Theo, who is now speaking to a group of women in the corner. Good god.

‘Another drink, Mags?’ Gary raises his pint glass to me. I love that he just called me Mags. It means he’s comfortable with me. Although... is he too comfortable? What does he want from me?

‘Yeah, I’ll come with.’ I squeeze out from the table and Kelsey immediately darts out after me, squeezing closer to the sales reps.

‘Well, that was a real treat.’ He nudges me as we walk across the room.

‘I can’t believe I made you come here with me,’ I say into his ear. ‘A fun night out watching a girl you barely know apologise to her ex-boss.’

We end up standing next to Jumpsuit Man, who does a double take when he sees me. ‘Oh my god, that dress is so gorgeous on you.’

‘Oh, thank you! I saw it on Instagram. It’s only Primark.’ Look how nice people can be! This evening is going really well.

‘ Love a bit of Insta inspo.’ His eyes drift over to Theo again.

‘I saw you got cornered by Theo before,’ I say, nodding towards Theo and his latest terrified harem.

‘Pint again, Mags?’ Gary pokes his head back from where he’s been leaning over the bar.

‘Yes, please.’ I turn back to Jumpsuit Man. ‘He’s bonkers, honestly. Good intentions, but blimey — proceed at your own risk, you know? How long did he talk about his bloody iguana before you managed to get rid of him?’

I’m grinning up at the man, but he isn’t laughing. In fact, his face is darkening a little.

‘What?’ he says quietly.

‘That man? The one who’s obsessed with iguanas and the endocrine system? Over there?’ I point to Theo again. Even as I’m speaking my stomach is sinking. Something is wrong here; I need to shut up.

‘That man ,’ he hisses through gritted teeth, ‘that obsessed, bonkers guy ,’ little pieces of spittle are collecting on his lip, ‘is my husband. ’

I am silent.

Oh my fuck.

What have I done?

‘And that bloody iguana ,’ he jabs a finger in my face, ‘had a name. His name was Romulus, and now he’s dead. Have some fucking respect.’

The silence stretches on. The man (who I now know to be Christopher, how lovely of Theo to introduce us when we came in) is glaring at me like I’m Ian Brady.

‘Christopher!’ I scream, eventually. ‘How wonderful to meet you!’

He throws me one more venomous stare and swishes away, marching over to Theo and muttering in his ear.

‘Here you are!’ Gary turns round with our drinks, his timing on point.

‘We have to go.’ I take my pint and throw it down my neck.

Gary follows suit. ‘I’d ask why, but I’m learning to just go with the flow with you.’

I drag us both out of the door and onto the street, where I clumsily roll a cigarette and take deep, long drags. Grabbing Gary’s arm, I jog down the street and past the window of the bar, where I can see Theo gesticulating wildly at the table as everyone searches the room for me.

‘Okay.’ We stop in a side street and Gary bends over, panting. ‘It’s killing me, you have to tell me what just happened.’

‘I insulted his iguana, it’s dead now.’ I dab at the concealer that has started melting from under my eyes.

‘OK, fair enough.’ Gary curls his arm around my shoulder and I lean into him, suddenly realising how long it’s been since I’ve had someone hold me. This doesn’t mean anything. I have a say in this. I can stop it at any point.

We stroll up another side street, which is the perfect setting for an undetected murder, before veering left onto Oldham Street, which is cluttered with smokers in huddles outside the bars. I roll another cigarette.

I flick the lighter and take a long drag, watching the crowds and feeling content nestled under Gary’s shoulder. A woman laughs and it sounds like Cecilia and I smile, remembering the good times we have had on this road. Getting closer to one of the groups, I notice one of the women looks almost exactly like Sophie. And standing next to her is someone who is the spitting image of...

She laughs again.

It is Cecilia.

Why didn’t they tell me they’d be out tonight?

I open my mouth to call to them, but I stop when a man walks out of the door of the bar and plants a kiss on Sophie’s forehead. He smiles down at her and his thick eyebrows scrunch together. She gazes up at him and he leans down, pulling her into a long, passionate snog.

‘Awwww,’ croons Cecilia.

I freeze.

Gary stops and takes his arm from round my shoulders, frowning at me.

‘What’s up?’

I feel sick. My friends are out without me. Cecilia is here, swaying happily on the side of the road, while Sophie, one of my closest, best friends, kisses my ex-boyfriend. Kisses Martin.

I start to run.

‘ HOW COULD YOU? ’ I scream, skidding to a stop in front of their group. ‘How fucking could you?’

Cecilia’s hands fly to her mouth, her eyes wide. Martin grabs Sophie protectively round the waist as she reaches for me. ‘Maggie, oh my god.’ Her face is white. ‘Maggie, I’m sorry.’

I feel like I’m dreaming. Is this really happening?

‘Sorry?’ I bleat. ‘Sorry?’ I can’t process what’s in front of me. We’re here, on the pavement, where we usually would be on a Friday night. But we aren’t laughing or confiding; there’s a bolt of uncomfortableness quivering around us. It feels so completely wrong. I swing round to Martin. ‘So this is your new girlfriend, I presume?’

He gazes at the floor.

All those texts. It all makes perfect sense now.

‘And you wanted me to meet her? What were you going to do, just turn up with her? Surprise! Guess who! ’

‘Maggie, I wanted to tell you. I just wanted to make sure it was real first. That I wasn’t jeopardising our friendship for something that wouldn’t even last.’ Sophie’s eyes are filled with tears now.

‘So you’d have jeopardised our friendship for a guy if you were pretty certain, is that it? Well you’ve done a brilliant job of handling the whole thing. Really, bravo.’

I’m so winded by this I can’t think. I knew something was going on, but never in a million years did I expect this. My best friend and my ex-boyfriend; we broke up just over a month ago, for god’s sake. It doesn’t matter how little I ever felt for Martin, it’s the principle. What’s stabbing at me the most though, I realise as I’m standing shivering on the pavement, my closest friends huddled around me, is that Cecilia has not only covered for Sophie, but actively encouraged her to pursue this. Actively cut me out.

I jab my finger at Cecilia. ‘And you. You chose her? I wouldn’t have expected you to take sides, or even to tell me , but you excluded me. You didn’t stay neutral. You distanced yourself from me and made me feel like I’d done something wrong.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.’ She reaches her hand out to grab me. ‘I just knew you’d overreact.’

‘Overreact?!’ I screech. ‘What’s an appropriate reaction to this kind of thing? Is there a forum I can consult? I’m sorry if I’m being a little bit too dramatic for you, Cecilia. A little bit too impulsive with my outburst. Am I embarrassing you? Is that what I am, just a big fat fucking embarrassment?’

I’m crying now, and Gary pulls me closer and rubs my arm.

‘Oh, come on Maggie.’ Martin steps forward tentatively, holding his hands out. ‘You’ve moved on too, can’t you let me be happy?’

‘This isn’t about you , Martin!’ I screech.

‘Why are you getting so upset then?’ He frowns down at Sophie, completely nonplussed.

‘No, it’s not about you,’ she says quietly, shrugging out from under his arm. ‘It’s about me. I lied and I’m so sorry.’

‘I can’t believe this is happening. How long has this been going on for? Were you seeing each other before we even broke up?’ I glare at Sophie through my tears.

‘No! I promise.’ She reaches for me again and I step back, taking Gary with me.

‘Don’t touch me. I don’t want either of you near me.’ I detach myself from Gary and stride up the street, not caring where I’m going.

‘Maggie, wait!’ I can hear them all calling behind me, but only one set of running footsteps. Gary catches up with me and spins me round into a hug.

‘Maggie.’ He smooths my hair as I cry into his chest. ‘Are you OK?’

‘No.’ I pull away and march towards home, Gary on my tail.

‘Maggie, stop, please. You need to calm down.’

I keep walking and he follows me, a few steps behind, trying every so often to coax me into talking. We walk for twenty minutes but I keep up my speed, great stomping strides along the pavement.

‘You need to calm down,’ he says again as we reach the door to my building.

‘Calm down? I need to calm down?’ I throw my hands in the air. ‘I lost my job, my grandmother’s ill, I’m fucking up every last little thing around me and I’m so completely stuck...’ I suck in a shuddery lungful of breath. ‘And now I’ve lost my best friends. I’ve lost it all.’

Gary moves forward and holds my arms. ‘But look how much you’ve gained. It might not be the stuff you had to start with, but it’s something, isn’t it? Look at everything you’re doing! Life’s chucking some curveballs at you but... you’re surviving.’ He shrugs.

‘Barely.’ I sniff, unwilling to hear anything that will force me out of my pity party.

‘There’s so much to be happy for,’ he says, ‘if you just look for it.’ Suddenly his face is so close, his kind, liquid blue eyes making my breath catch in my throat. He leans in until our noses are almost touching.

I can smell the warmth of his aftershave and the indescribable musk of man. My heart thumps hard against my ribs.

‘No,’ I murmur.

He reaches his hand to my face and tilts my chin up. I stay transfixed as he moves his lips closer to mine, but before they touch I jerk from under him. I step backwards towards the front door. ‘No.’

He stands, frozen, and watches as I put my key in the lock. His mouth opens to say something, but he just stares, wide-eyed and confused.

‘No,’ I say again, and I close the door behind me.