Court Out - By Elle Wynne Page 0,85

thoughts haunting me about the photographer from earlier. Halfway down the bottle I start to feel a little better and turn the television on and flick to a documentary about sloths. Fascinated, I sit and watch, drinking more and more wine until fatigue overwhelms me, and probably due to the alcohol, I decide to have a nap on the sofa.

When I wake I realise with a start that it’s now early evening. Sebastian has a meeting and won’t be back until near midnight. I don’t know how, but I’m hungry again so I go to the kitchen and start to open the cupboards, already knowing that this is a pointless exercise.

I really don’t want to leave the house again in case there are more press outside looking for another humiliating shot of me. Inspiration strikes and I run upstairs and grab my laptop. I open two windows: one so I can do an online grocery shop and another so I can find the details of a local takeaway. I settle on a large stuffed crust meat feast, some potato wedges and happily, as they are licensed, a couple of bottles of wine. As I phone through the order, a small voice in my head is telling me that this is not what you’re supposed to eat or drink when you’re on your own and depressed but I push it to the back of my mind and successfully ignore it. Order placed, I turn my attention to the shopping. I guess I should start to think about economising, as without any sign of a regular income, money may get tight. I know Sebastian could easily support us both, but I can’t bear the thought of becoming a burden.

I spend a happy twenty minutes filling my virtual basket with all sorts of wonderful goodies (all on offer!) to keep me full over the coming week. By the time I’m finished I feel better; I’ve managed to combine three things that cheer me up: shopping, food and alcohol. The order is coming first thing in the morning so I’d better make sure that I set an alarm.

My pizza arrives quickly and I wolf it down, appreciating the rich cheese and juicy meat topping. The wine goes down easily too. I wonder why I didn’t think of this before? Everything has a fuzzy edge now, the trauma of what’s happened seems much further away and I almost feel like I can cope. I reach for my phone and fire off a text to Serena, letting her know that I’m looking forward to her hen do. Actually, that’s a good point.

I retrieve my laptop and load up some fancy dress websites. It only takes me a few minutes to find the perfect costume. I add it to the basket and checkout quickly. Job done, I return to my wine and nondescript movie.

Chapter Eighteen

My routine of wine and biscuits continues for the next two weeks. Sebastian goes to work, I watch daytime television whilst eating junk and drinking cheap chardonnay. Each day seems to blur into the next and I’ve lost track of everything apart from the television schedule.

Serena has been an absolute star. Not once has she judged my new alternative lifestyle and diet, but has come round most days after court to keep me occupied with wedding issues and general gossip. Tonight is such a night.

“Ewan simply refuses to let me give everyone a Mont Blanc pen as a wedding favour!”

“I’m not surprised!” I exclaim. “Do you know how much they cost? Plus, you are having quite a few people...”

“Only two hundred of my closest friends and family,” she replies sulkily. “Anyway, money has got a little better recently.”

“Oh yes? Has Ewan been promoted?” I enquire. Immediately I recognise my foolishness. “Forget it, please don’t answer that!” I beg. It’s obvious. Serena is earning more because she’s doing my work.

“Shit. Sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned anything,” she says, coming over to me and putting an arm around me. “This’ll be over before you know it. You’ll be back at work, the case will be dropped and you can forget all about this mess.”

I look up at her, unable to prevent the tears spilling from my eyes.

“Do you really believe that?” I ask in a small voice.

She rubs the back of my shoulders and smiles a kind smile.

“Yes, yes I honestly do.”

Before I know it, it’s the morning of Serena’s hen do. I get up early having decided to spend the day pampering myself and