– but she doesn’t laugh.
‘Anyway, Alex is having heaters installed, so I can’t use the cold as an excuse not to work out in the bloody garage,’ I add with a giggle.
‘Wouldn’t you rather go to the gym?’ she asks, unsmiling.
‘Not really, it’s full of sweaty people. Besides, it’s romantic to work out together.’ I hear myself echoing Alex, but I now think he’s right.
‘Do you think he’s just done that so you don’t go to the gym?’ she says, loud enough for the others to hear.
Sameera asks what we’re talking about and Jas tells her that Alex wants to make me a home gym.
‘He doesn’t want her doing press-ups in tight lycra in front of other men,’ she says with a wink.
‘Ooh he might be a bit… too keen,’ Sameera says.
‘No he isn’t,’ I say wearily, pissed off at Jas’s interpretation of Alex’s kindness, and the fact she’s opened this up to the whole office for debate. I think she’s feeling a little rejected because we haven’t had a girls’ night recently, and now she’s trying to rally the troops to judge Alex through her cynical eyes.
‘It might be that he doesn’t want you going to the gym because you might bump into hunky men,’ Sameera offers, almost apologetically.
‘Is this guy possessive much?’ Harry sniggers.
That’s the trouble when you spend all your time with people, you tell them too much and they start to create their own narratives. Jas has started this one. I realise it’s been difficult for her to see me so caught up in Alex when her relationship has so recently backfired, but I wish she’d be a little more supportive.
‘He isn’t possessive at all,’ I say. ‘There’s a difference between being controlling – which I think is what you’re saying – and caring. And, trust me, I do know the difference,’ I say, perhaps a little sharply.
Harry isn’t even listening to my response, he’s engrossed in something on his phone.
Jas shrugs. ‘Well, it’s your life, but I wouldn’t like that – I need my own space, I like getting away and being on my own in the gym – or with the girls.’
‘Yep, it’s my life,’ I say pointedly, and it’s my turn to shrug.
I’m the one who’s with Alex, and I know the truth – not them. They can think what they like. All I know is that since we met, I feel as if I’ve been living on a cloud of pink candy floss. Alex is kind, considerate, sensitive, he doesn’t even leave his socks on the floor or let plates pile up in the sink. Being me, I’m always looking for the problem, nothing is so good that it’s flawless. But the only little spot on my horizon is the spectre of Helen, his ex. He hasn’t really mentioned her since that first night at his house, and I’d love to know more about her. But all I really care about is that she’s in the past. Right now, nothing matters but me and Alex. I’ve become one of those people who, mid-conversation, smiles mysteriously when they receive a text, and has hushed phone calls in the office. I’m aware Jas doesn’t approve, but Sameera and Harry have calls with Raj and Gemma, and Jas never says anything. Perhaps I’m just imagining her disapproval. The old guilt gene again making me feel bad for something when I don’t need to.
I am worried about Jas though. She seems in a bad place right now, and it’s coming through in her negativity. Being made a widow in her thirties means she carries a lot of baggage, and I don’t know how to help her. Only yesterday I suggested we go out for lunch and talk – I understand she may not want to pour her heart out in front of the office. But she said there’s nothing to talk about, she’s just feeling low, wondering where her life’s going and if she’ll ever meet anyone again. I understand, because until recently I was the girl who spent her weekends alone, who gazed resentfully, yet longingly, at the ‘couple’ photos on other friends’ Instagram accounts. I used to roll my eyes at the sickly silhouette heart shapes they made with their hands against a sunset, the cute little selfies of two loved-up faces squashed against a camera lens. I hated anniversaries and Valentine’s days and dinners for two. No one understands how Jas feels more than me, and I get it: as satisfied as she