I watch the pull on her lips. ‘He’s trying anything now though, but I slapped him.’ I stare out to the fields and should I be honest? Should I tell her that there are times when I think about Luke? Should I admit to my fantasies? I decide no, because fantasies are all that they are Denise and Dr Patel tell me, even if sometimes they seem more than that.
Sometimes I don’t know whose thoughts I’m thinking, whose fantasies I tap into at times.
But I’m on medication and that’s my excuse!
So, I just sit there silent.
‘I should never have accused you,’ Jess says. ‘I had no right to, because…’
I watch the pony step into a canter, she is such a good rider, her back is so straight, yet she looks so relaxed. I watch Charlotte but my brain is busy.
I don’t want to know what Jess is about to tell me.
It’s a very conscious decision.
I’m not in denial.
I just don’t need to hear that it wasn’t Luke she shagged on the night of my daughter’s christening.
I don’t need it confirmed, that the awkwardness that existed for a while afterwards, was because of what she did with my husband.
There’s another curse to once being a mistress.
You don’t get to protest too much when it happens to you.
You don’t get to kick and scream and scratch faces. Well, I guess you can, but what’s the point?
I can hear Jess crying.
I’ve always known.
Not really.
But somewhere in my mind I did.
And I guess I chose not to deal with it.
There’s shit everywhere if you look.
I hear my drunken mother’s words.
I just choose, this evening, not to see it.
I turn to my friend; I stop her, before she reveals all.
I don’t need dates.
Dr Patel was right.
I don’t need another to tell me about my marriage.
And yes, the four of us in Portugal should have come with a government warning.
Can you imagine?!
As you know, I already have.
And so too had my husband. I remember that night, him stroking my arm. I think Jess would have been game for it too.
As for Luke?
I don’t know.
I look at Jess.
I did choose well.
‘I think,’ I stop her before she tells me. I stop her before she spills her guts. You can call it denial if you want to but I need a friend right now, and so too does Charlotte. ‘I really think that our friendship is way stronger than our marriages turned out to be.’
Bloody Hell, Lucy, did you really say that?
Yes, I did.
I stand up and I haul Jess to her feet as Charlotte trots towards us.
I did choose well, because a few hours later, the three of us are painting our nails and then we lounge on the sofa and watch a movie.
Charlotte laughs and laughs as she shares a girly night with Jess and me and yes, I do well.
So well, that instead of a fight and a night spent on the motorway with my foot on the accelerator, scaring Charlotte, I can stay here in Wales for one more night and have the best night with my daughter and friend. So well, that the next morning I can cuddle Jess goodbye and thank her for a brilliant week.
Oh, I choose very well because the next day, when I am all indignant, I find myself pacing the floor of Dr Patel’s.
No, I don’t need more medication, she tells me. I am right to be upset, pissed off and hurt. I did well, Dr Patel tells me and then her kind brown eyes meet mine.
‘I’m proud of you, Lucy.’
The strange thing is, I’m proud of me too.
CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT
‘I don't want a board,’ I tell the estate agent. ‘And viewings are to be by appointment only and during school hours.’
‘People work.’ He points out.
‘Tough.’ If it's meant to be it will happen. I'm not having Charlotte being put through people trudging around when, the way the market is, it might not even sell.
She is excited though, at the prospect of moving.
Honestly, we’ve chatted it through and I’ve explained to her that if I sell, then there is no reason she can’t stay at her school.
She just doesn’t want to go there.
She started at the local comprehensive yesterday and I’ve just come from dropping her off today and my heart is in knots as to how she is getting on.
‘You don’t want to turn away a prospective buyer,’ he warns me.
‘If they’re serious buyers, then I’ll make arrangements. If you don't want the house on your books,