I don’t take my eyes off Alex and the woman as they continue to walk down the street. The noise of the traffic probably drowned out the sound of crashing crockery, so he didn’t hear it and hasn’t seen me. I guess he thinks I’m back in Worcester, safely at my desk, where I can’t see him arm in arm with a strange woman. Had he been with her when I called? Was the sound of running water not from the bathroom at the courts, but from a bathroom in a house? Her bathroom? Who is she? More importantly, what is she to Alex?
I desperately try to think of an alternative to the obvious. She may just be a friend. She might be a colleague or client he’s helped and she’s showing her gratefulness by linking arms with him. I can’t say I’ve ever had a client link arms with me, and whilst I’d link arms with Jas or Sameera, it would be weird to do so with Harry, and he’d definitely think the same. I want this woman to be Alex’s sister, but he’s an only child. I can’t bear this, I need to know what’s going on, so I manage to cross over to their side and follow at a discreet distance. It feels weird and wrong. Shouldn’t I just trust him, and ask him about it later? Or call out to him and go up to them, rather than sneak behind them? But that would be mad. Along with all the happiness, the anticipation, the warm feeling permanently flooding your veins – this is what love does to a person. It makes you crazy, your judgement becomes clouded and irrational.
They slow down slightly and the woman steps out into the road. For a moment I think she’s going to walk in front of a car, but she runs across quickly while looking both ways. My heart lifts slightly, perhaps they’ve said goodbye? But before I can recover, Alex follows her across the road.
Only half aware of my actions, I take out my phone and call him. It’s instinctive, I don’t think about it, don’t even know what I’ll say when he answers. Even though he’s run to the other side of the road, I’m close enough to be able to see him react to the ringtone, and take the phone from his coat pocket. He looks at the screen, and I hold my breath, waiting for him to pick up. But he hesitates, then must end the call because the ringing stops and he puts the phone back in his pocket.
I’m devastated. I thought he always answered the phone to me, whatever he’s doing. So why is he not answering now?
I stand on the pavement opposite, watching the woman flash her keys at a red shiny soft-top. It’s then I get my first glimpse of her face. I know immediately who she is. It’s the woman in the photo whose face was defiled by his furious pen. And not only has he just had lunch with her, he’s told me he’s somewhere else.
I’m not even being discreet now, I’ve stopped in the middle of the pavement, on a freezing winter’s afternoon, openly watching them, as people pass me, giving me angry stares because I’m not moving out of their way. Part of me wants Alex to see me, to rush over, take me in his arms and explain what the hell is going on. But because he’s chatting to her, he doesn’t see me. Then the woman climbs into the car, Alex gets into the passenger seat, and they drive off. Just like a couple out for a romantic afternoon.
A man walking past almost knocks me into the road, but before he can apologise, I move and stand in the doorway of a charity shop, clutching my bag of broken crockery, feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck.
After a few minutes, I turn off my phone and head back to the car park. I have to compose myself. Regardless of my problems, I need to go to this meeting with Chloe. I have to be there for this girl who’s been let down already by those she trusts. But right now I wonder if it would be in her interests for me to pass her case to someone else, someone who can be more committed, more focussed than I can at the moment.
I think about calling Jas to say I’m ill and need to go home,