along? Had he sent me those apartment links knowing we’d never live there and that I would have burned my bridges at home? He knew I had no money! He had to know I’d be homeless. I thought of him coming back from his holiday, of his face falling when he saw someone else at my desk. He’d be furious when he realized I’d been fired.
I tried his number again but stopped when I heard him say, “Hi.” I didn’t leave a message. I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Later, I realized that Tom’s messages were on WhatsApp and he would have seen that I’d read them. I sent him a brief message:
Thanks.
He must have been watching out for my reply, because his came immediately.
Any time. Take care, babe x
I stared down at the message. He was calling me babe again? Despite myself I felt that familiar feeling of pleasure that I always had when Tom was nice to me. I’d felt it all the time in the early days, but much less often toward the end. Hardly ever, really. Yet each time he was nice, I felt that warm glow of approval and just wanted more of it. I shook my head. I had to stop thinking like that. I’d moved away; there was no way I should move back. I wanted to challenge him, to ask him what he was playing at, but then I thought of the way he could be if I did that and decided to leave it. I could hardly complain that he was being too nice to me.
The evening was still warm outside. The bedroom window would open only a couple of inches, so I dragged the table to the window and got out my laptop. I spent a couple of hours sending my résumé to employers in the area. I was just about to find something to watch on Netflix when my phone pinged. I jumped at the sound. It was Tom again.
Ruby, your mum’s just called on the landline. Thought I’d warn you—she’s calling you in a minute x
Oh no.
Exactly one minute later my phone rang and I winced. When I reluctantly accepted the call, all I could hear was the sound of sobbing. I sighed and went to flick the kettle on. I was in for a long call. I put the phone on loudspeaker, made some coffee, and opened a packet of biscuits.
“Hi, Mum.” More sobbing. I stirred the coffee and chose one of the biscuits. Mmm, shortbread. My favorite. I ate it before saying anything more. “Are you okay? Have you fallen? Do you need me to get help?”
She gave a loud sniff that put me right off my coffee, then said, “I have never been so ashamed.”
If I’d been at her house right now, I would’ve tiptoed around her trying to make everything all right, but I was broke and alone and homeless, and suddenly I thought, Hang on, I am the one with the problem here, not her!
So I said, “Oh no, what have you done?”
“It’s not what I’ve done, it’s what you’ve done. I’ve just had that poor man on the phone. Crying, he was. Said you’d left him and he didn’t know why. I couldn’t believe it! I only saw you a month ago and you said nothing to me.”
Funny, that. I wondered for a second about Tom. He hadn’t wasted much time getting sympathy from her. Had he really been upset? For the first time I thought of him in the house on his own, sitting there in the evenings without anyone to talk to. He didn’t have many friends, just colleagues he’d sometimes go for a drink with. He’d never lived alone; it must have seemed very strange. Lonely. I knew he’d be drinking more than he should, then stopped myself. What he did now had nothing to do with me.
“And that poor son of his.” She gave a heavy sigh. “Having another broken home.”
I wanted to tell her there was a common denominator involved here and it wasn’t me, but there was no point. Women didn’t leave men. That was the rule my mother