‘—Well, the whole situation, I think we want minimal drama, don’t you?’
My eyes widened in surprise, and Emma had met my gaze with a knowing look. I’d had no idea she’d known what was going on.
I stop to sit on a bench. My breath clouds in puffs in the freezing air. A family walk past, the children dragging sticks, the parents doubled over with laughter at their antics. That’s the kind of family I want, I find myself thinking. And then it hits me. It’s almost Christmas, and I’m here, alone, in London. I’ve got nobody. Publishing is full of women and gay men as far as I can see, so the chances of meeting someone at work are non-existent, and there’s nothing on this planet that’s going to convince me to try online dating again.
I’ll just have to spend the rest of my life alone. Maybe I’ll get some cats. Or a dog. Except I’m never going to be able to afford to buy a place. I give a massive, gusty sigh. Maybe I should just jack all this stuff in and go back to Bournemouth. If I went back to marketing, I could get a decent job and save up a deposit. I could even – I grimace at the prospect – move back in with Mum for a bit while I save.
I’d have to be pretty bloody desperate for that. I watch as two swans circle gracefully on the pond, and I pull out my phone to take a photo, editing it quickly then uploading it to Instagram. Sophie likes it almost immediately, and leaves a comment underneath.
That doesn’t look like a publishing party.
I type a private message back.
I ducked out. Couldn’t face it.
What’re you up to now? Soph types.
Heading home. Having a bit of a walk and a think.
Sounds better than my afternoon, she types, after a moment’s pause. I’ve been on the bathroom floor hugging the loo for the last four hours. This is hideous.
I look over at Kensington Palace as I walk towards Albany Road and think of the Duchess of Cambridge and her hyperemesis gravidarum. Imagine being in the public eye like that and just wanting to lie on the bathroom tiles dying quietly, but instead having to get up, plaster on a happy face, and shake people’s hands. When I get closer, I realise there’s a huge pine tree outside the Orangery at the palace, dotted with a million fairy lights.
There’s a street vendor wearing a thick woollen cap and fingerless gloves, selling hot chestnuts. He offers me some, and I take out some money and buy a little bagful, stuffing them in the pocket of my coat. They glow in there, keeping me warm, as I head back to Albany Road. But something tugs my feet in another direction. I walk past shops lit up with decorations and buy a copy of the Big Issue from the man who stands outside Queensway station. My phone rings, and I almost drop it in surprise when I see it’s Mum.
‘Hello, love,’ she says, ‘I can’t talk long.’ She always starts calls like that. I don’t know why she doesn’t call when she’s not busy, but she seems to like living her life pressed up to the edges of things.
‘Hi,’ I say, holding the phone with one hand and pressing the button at the traffic lights with the other. A little girl looks at me crossly and presses it again.
‘I was supposed to do that, wasn’t I, Mummy?’
I look at the mother and pull an apologetic face. She shakes her head, laughing. ‘It’s not a problem, honestly,’ she says, taking the little girl by the hand and pushing the pram across the road.
‘What’s happening with Nanna Beth?’ I ask.
‘Oh she’s fine, absolutely fine. I told her you and James might be coming down at Christmas to see her.’
‘Just me,’ I say, quietly. I walk past wildly expensive double-fronted houses with huge real Christmas trees in the bay of each matching window.
‘Oh that’s a pity,’ says Mum, and she sounds genuinely distraught. ‘What’s James doing?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say.
‘What do you mean?’ There’s another pause, and I can almost hear her brain cogs whirring. ‘Oh no, Jess. He hasn’t finished with you?’
I give a snort, which I hope she can’t hear.
‘No, Mum, I finished it,’ I say.
‘For goodness’ sake. Whatever for?’
She sounds completely astounded. There’s no way on this earth that my mother, who likes to know which side her bread is buttered on, and