on the off-chance I’d see him. It was like self-harm; I wanted to do it so badly, wanted that moment of release, even knowing the pain I’d feel. I turned the key in the ignition, when Oliver said, “You haven’t got over him, have you?”
“I have. I miss him, though.”
He hesitated. “I know it’s not my business, but he’d probably have you back if you asked him.”
I realized that we were completely at cross-purposes. “I meant Harry.”
“Who?”
“The guy . . . The guy I told you about.”
Oliver flushed red. “Oh, the someone special. Sorry, I thought we were talking about Tom.” He took a step back and said, “I’ll see you around, eh?”
I nodded and said good-bye. As I drove off I saw him standing watching after me and I thought of the repercussions of my leaving home and how many people had been hurt.
CHAPTER 44
Ruby
I got through that week at my temp job by daydreaming about my future. I’d scared myself at the weekend, the way I’d almost walked back into my old life with Tom. And then my response to that had been to stalk Harry. I had to stop this. I needed a completely fresh start. So I went onto automatic pilot, working fast while the women piled their filing onto my desk—yes, there’s still a way to go before the paperless office hits that particular company—and gave me their audio files to transcribe. As if at a distance, I heard them talk about buttock lifts and implants in their lips—how I longed for those procedures to go wrong—and moan about how hard they worked and how tired they were. On Friday they made their way through two tins of Quality Street that one of the managers had brought in without offering me one chocolate and my daydreams were quite violent by the end of the day.
I sent Sarah a message:
It’s Friday night and if I don’t go out tonight, I’ll go mad. Are you free?
It was an hour later and I thought I was going to have to go out on my own, before my phone pinged with a message:
McCullough’s at 8?
Before she could change her mind, I replied: I’ll be there.
* * *
? ? ?
Sarah came rushing in late, as I’d known she would. I’d finished a glass of wine by then and was chatting to the Italian barman about the best places to visit in Florence. As I listened to the way he talked about the food there I mentally added it to my list of places to go to live.
“Well, you look happy enough,” she said, sounding a bit resentful. She gave my empty glass a pointed look. “You’ve made good use of your time while you were waiting for me.”
I thought of the chances of Sarah getting there early and drinking water while she waited. Neither of those things would ever happen. “Did you think I’d sit and cry?” I beckoned the waiter. “Here, have a glass of wine and cheer up.”
She slid off her jacket and climbed up onto the barstool next to me. “I shouldn’t really have this,” she said. “I’m a bit hungover. It was book group last night.”
“Good night?”
“Yeah, it was great. Shame you stopped coming. We were talking about The Goldfinch. You would have liked it.”
“That’s odd, I’m reading that book at the moment.” I knew, though, that nothing I thought would add to the conversation. I’d been to the book group a few times and really enjoyed it. We took it in turns to go to one another’s houses each month and the hostess would make snacks and provide drinks. After a few months it was my turn to host. I was so excited; ridiculously excited, really. It was only a book group, but I’d seen it as my chance to make new friends. I was starting to feel as though my world was closing in on me. Tom had greeted the women, poured drinks, and I’d thought he’d enjoyed having them there. He wasn’t taking part in the discussion, and I hadn’t realized he’d been listening in until they’d gone.