she said. She bit her lip. ‘He’s sent me a letter.’
Mila’s eyes widened. ‘A letter? Oh my God, that’s so old school! What did it say?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve not received it yet.’
‘Oh. Well, when did he send it?’
Lee shrugged.
‘What do you think’s in it?’
Lee spread her palms wide. ‘I don’t know, Mils! That he wants to transition to being a woman? He’s gone vegan?’ She laughed weakly, but it turned into a sigh. ‘Honestly, I’ve no idea.’
Mila stared at her intently, prompting Lee to arch an eyebrow. ‘What?’
‘You know what.’
‘I don’t! All I know is you’re staring at me like some kind of mad, crazy woman.’
‘What if he’s writing to tell you he loves you? That he always has and he always will?’
‘His wife is pregnant,’ Lee replied in an arch tone. ‘It’s not that.’
‘He could realize he’s made a terrible mistake?’
‘They spent months trying. There’s no mistake.’
Mila’s face fell. ‘I’ve just always had the feeling about you two that . . . you know, there was more there than just . . . former colleagues. You’re like . . . soulmates.’
Lee dropped her head in her hands. ‘You’re attaching narrative again. We’ve talked about this.’
‘But he followed you to Amsterdam after you moved here! He knocks at your door even though we all know you will never answer it. Lee, no one could drive each other as crazy as you two drive each other crazy, without it coming down to either love or hate.’
Lee was silent for several moments. ‘It isn’t either of those,’ she said quietly, her fingers interlacing around her cup. ‘I’m afraid it’s far worse than that.’
Chapter Eleven
She pulled the Christmas tree up the stairs, backwards, thousands of needles scattering across the treads. It was heavier than it looked.
‘Come on, you bastard,’ she muttered to herself, heaving it into the living area and over to the window. She would still need to get the stand and decorations down from the loft, for her and Jasper to put up together this weekend. But not now. Not now. Her hangover was getting the better of her again.
Massaging her temples, she went over to the kitchen and made herself a coffee. Her sixth so far today. Now she wasn’t sure if it was the caffeine or the whisky giving her the shakes.
‘So much for a duvet day,’ she thought, reaching for the blanket from the armchair. She was too much of a puritan to spend an entire day doing nothing, even with a cracking hangover, and since getting back from dropping off Jasper and having brunch with Mila, she had done the shopping for tomorrow’s Pakjesavond festivities and stripped and washed the bed in the spare room. She had even gone as far as opening the window to air the place. She didn’t want a trace of Matt left in her house, not even aftershave molecules lingering in the air. He had followed up already with a text and she had immediately deleted that too.
No more Matt. No more Sam. She’d had quite enough man trouble lately and some peace and quiet was what she craved now. That and a saline drip.
Putting down her coffee, she sank her full height along the length of the sofa with a grateful sigh and pulled the blanket up to her chin, closing her eyes. She needed this. An hour’s rest before she had to collect Jasper . . .
Her eyes opened again and she frowned, unable to get comfortable. She fluffed the cushions; they were too flat. Her hand touched something smooth and hard.
‘What is tha—?’ she asked herself, pulling out a book and falling still. ‘Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,’ she murmured. It was the book she had found in her bike basket. Sam’s book. Jasper had asked to keep it and she had forgotten all about it. He must have been reading it, looking at the pictures.
She stared at the cover, at the arresting simplicity of the image, recognizing now his style. She could hate him and still see that it was beautiful. She could admire his book and still want never to see him again, she told herself, as she flicked through the pages. She stopped at one of a koala in a tree, looking down at a kangaroo holding open its pouch. If you fall . . .
Two million copies. She kept flicking past the pages. Two million copies had been sold of these pithy, Insta-happy wisdoms and pretty pictures?