Who Needs Men Anyway?: A perfect feel-good romantic comedy filled with sass

Who Needs Men Anyway?: A perfect feel-good romantic comedy filled with sass Victoria Cooke *The #1 Digital Bestseller!*‘Funny and poignant with a gloriously realistic cast of characters. I followed Charlotte's journey avidly, cheering her on all the way. An unputdownable read.’Rachel Burton, author of The Many Colours of UsDon’t get mad, get even…Thirty-something Charlotte’s Emsworth’s life is a sickeningly perfect round of charity events, hot yoga, and romantic gestures for sexy lawyer husband James. But, patiently waiting to get pregnant, Charlotte is bored. And when she’s bored, she has a tendency to meddle…First, it’s her personal trainer Megan’s cheating fianc?, then the gardener Sam’s wife’s ‘late nights at the office’. But soon the meddling, however well-intentioned, lands Charlotte in way over her head, and all the time spent ‘managing’ other people’s lives makes her blind to the cracks appearing in her own…Getting even is one thing, but what about getting happy?Perfect for fans of The First Wives Club…Readers love Victoria Cooke:“It had all the drama, laughs, twists, and touch of romance I love in a book”“Loved this book!”“Brilliant writing kept me enthralled to the end”“Loved this book , I could not put it down”“I think this is her best book yet!”“A fabulously fun and laugh out loud novel” Don’t get mad, get even . . . Thirty-something Charlotte Emsworth’s life is a sickeningly perfect round of charity events, hot yoga, and romantic gestures for sexy lawyer husband James. But, patiently waiting to get pregnant, Charlotte is bored. And when she’s bored, she has a tendency to meddle . . . First, it’s her personal trainer Megan’s cheating fianc?, then the gardener Sam’s wife’s ‘late nights at the office’. But soon the meddling, however well-intentioned, lands Charlotte in way over her head, and all the time spent ‘managing’ other people’s lives makes her blind to the cracks appearing in her own . . . Getting even is one thing, but what about getting happy? Perfect for fans of The First Wives Club . . . Also by Victoria Cooke (#u73ecd6ac-d4c9-5c24-9424-fc2ea663ba96) The Secret to Falling in Love The Holiday Cruise Who Needs Men Anyway? Victoria Cooke ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES Copyright (#ulink_ce71aacb-ac75-5709-a7f6-2f98a47d0e09) An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018 Copyright © Victoria Cooke 2018 Victoria Cooke asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. E-book Edition © April 2018 ISBN: 9780008274580 Version: 2018-04-05 VICTORIA COOKE grew up in the city of Manchester before crossing the Pennines in pursuit of her career in education. She now lives in Huddersfield with her husband and two young daughters and when she’s not at home writing by the fire with a cup of coffee in hand, she loves working out in the gym and travelling. Victoria was first published at the tender age of eight by her classroom teacher who saw potential in a six-page story about an invisible man. Since then she’s always had a passion for reading and writing, undertaking several writers’ courses before completing her first novel in 2016. This book is for my friends, my besties, my ‘Elmwood massive’ and my ‘club Oasis’ partners in crime. Cocktails are never the same without you. Thank you for inspiring me with your crazy antics – your friendship rocks. xxx Contents Cover (#u4a47da64-ad16-5cba-9822-e263ed5d2cd4) Blurb (#uf173a7d8-cdcd-525f-89b9-3ec9ba6513a5) Booklist (#u6dcaa106-1271-55ec-9171-9dbbf4f0b204) Title Page (#u798390a4-f5f3-5467-a2fc-b9b15310adb7) Copyright (#ulink_45abbed9-3c96-5761-af2a-cd3b4d1203ee) Author Bio (#u71cd1e9b-183f-59ce-b1e4-cc7e16a44bff) Dedication (#u46bdb147-5285-5f43-ae47-64d1d85f64fd) Prologue (#ulink_6a31209f-4e60-524c-acba-304411cec851) Chapter One (#ulink_12a69b49-2887-52a5-bed0-bb07a09ac194) Chapter Two (#ulink_3de20a68-e2ac-5d18-bad6-de04cbd15b4f) Chapter Three (#ulink_04c368db-0c2e-5395-9158-f15dac2d077c) Chapter Four (#ulink_bd8b3c04-7fb3-5c3d-bf8c-4f58df864b80) Chapter Five (#ulink_33bcc36d-8fb6-50cc-a44c-1bd78280db4f) Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo) Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo) Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo) Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo) Endpages (#litres_trial_promo) About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) Prologue (#ulink_2035cd16-5628-59cd-b099-dc305cbbd0d2) Valentine’s Day Last Year I’m Charlotte, and I have a wonderful life. The house, the cars, the clothes, and the man. What more could I want? My husband, James, is quite the catch: successful, good-looking, and loved by everyone, he’s the type of man other women tell me they dream of marrying. James and I were university sweethearts and married at the tender age of twenty-four – ten years ago today, in a lavish ceremony on a frosty February the fourteenth, so Valentine’s Day has always been a day of celebration. This morning, I woke up to find a single rose lying at the foot of the bed with a little note that read: I love you more than life itself. Happy anniversary, my darling valentine. James xxx A smile spread across my face as I sniffed the rose. ‘James?’ I shouted, and he emerged from the steamy en suite with a white towel tied around his waist, showing off his toned stomach, still tanned from our recent trip to Mexico. ‘You’re awake?’ He pulled me into a hug. ‘I am, thank you for the rose,’ I said, kissing him. ‘And the note.’ ‘You deserve it, Charlotte. I love you. Come here.’ He pulled me in tight once again, nibbling my lip. ‘I’ll see you tonight. I have a special dinner planned – at that new French restaurant on the high street – but I’ll be working late so meet me there at seven?’ ‘Sounds perfect. Now sit down, I’ve got something for you.’ He sat waiting dutifully as I skipped into the walk-in wardrobe and opened my small, hidden drawer, sliding out the yellow box. It had challenged me to keep the gift a secret. The excited rush I’d felt when buying it two weeks ago was so strong it almost forced me to give it to him as soon as he’d walked in that day, especially since he’d looked so tired and in need of cheering up. I’d had to take myself off to hot yoga every night to avoid caving in to temptation and spoiling the surprise. But I’d triumphed! I made it to our anniversary, to Valentine’s Day morning, without spilling the beans. ‘Close your eyes,’ I said, hovering in the doorway. Once he did, I walked over and placed the box on his knee, jumping on the bed to sit beside him. My insides squeezed with excitement. ‘Okay, you can open them!’ ‘Oh my God! Charlotte!’ He gasped. Taking in the embossed wings logo on the yellow box, he hastily opened the lid to reveal a smaller, glossy-black box inside. It was like the Russian doll of watch boxes. I could barely contain myself as he peered inside and grinned. ‘I love it.’ Of course he did; I knew he would – it was the Breitling Navitimer watch he’d had his eye on for months. He kissed me before pulling away. ‘And I love you too. I’ve got you a little something as well but it’s at work because I was saving it to give you at dinner.’ What a wonderful man. Chapter One (#ulink_d096a2ff-59e6-5f11-a0e7-42f4e383fb3c) ‘Janet, you went with the highlights and bob I suggested? You look absolutely stunning.’ I beamed at the Budgen’s shop assistant who fiddled with the ends of her hair shyly and nodded. ‘It’s taken years off you.’ It really had – she’d gone from ‘magnolia plain’ to ‘hot pink sassy’ since I’d last seen her. Jaded Janet to Jazzy Janet in a jiffy. My insides bounced about excitedly at yet another triumph in my quest to make people happy. ‘Thank you, Mrs Emsworth – I was a bit unsure about the chop but after you’d said I should go for it I thought “well what the heck?” My darling other half thought I’d gone and got myself a bit on the side because I’d apparently started “making an effort” all of a sudden.’ She giggled. ‘Well, that’ll keep him on his toes.’ I winked. I walked to the exit feeling all warm and fuzzy, glad that Janet appreciated my advice. On the surface, it looked like I had it all, and I suppose I almost did but life hadn’t always been so rosy and it wasn’t quite complete. Coming from a background where I didn’t always ‘fit in’ gave me a level of empathy rarely found amongst the average Cheshire housewife cliques and that was my superpower. As I stepped outside the shop contemplating my next quest, I spotted something that made my blood run cold. I squinted a little to make sure I’d not made a mistake. Sure enough, it was him, Mike, the fianc? of my personal trainer, Megan, sat in his car getting far too close to a much younger woman. As I froze, trying to figure out what to do, the engine started and they drove off into the night. *** ‘I’m going out. There’s hummus and crudit?s in the fridge in case you get peckish,’ I yelled to James late the following Saturday night. He was up in the office where he’d been spending far too much time of late. Megan had gushed about going to a Sam Smith concert with some of her friends, and that meant her fianc? would be home alone, allegedly. If I was going to expose him for the cheating worthless bastard I knew he was, I was going to need evidence. I’d dressed in black skinny jeans, a black T-shirt, and black leather jacket for low visibility; my Kera Straightened blonde hair was tucked into a black woolly pompom hat. James didn’t question me as I left; I knew he wouldn’t because he’d been office-bound, working so hard on a huge case that he’d barely had time to eat, never mind worry himself with whatever I was up to. I sunk into the leather seat of my black BMW and pressed the ‘Start’ button. The engine purred to life. It was a fifteen-minute drive to Megan’s house in a nice residential area on the outskirts of Stockport. Bingo, two cars sat on the driveway: Megan’s cute Mini and Mike’s navy Merc – or the ‘seedy-love-mobile’, as I now prefer to call it. I crawled past and saw a light on in the front room of their modern detached – confirming he was home. I spun my car around at the top of the cul-de-sac and drove off up the street, pulling up on the main road at the top. It looked like one of those ‘Neighbourhood Watch’ areas – the kind with the twitchy curtains. My unfamiliar shiny new 5 Series wouldn’t sit unnoticed; it may have already drawn a look or two. I checked my watch. It was just after nine. The urgent trill of my phone made me jump as it came through the car’s Bluetooth system. I fumbled with the volume quickly before answering. ‘Hello?’ I said, eyes still fixed on the road. ‘Charlotte, it’s Lauren,’ she shrilled. ‘I just wanted to let you know we’ve had to bring our charity ball forward to Friday the seventh. There was a double booking at the venue but don’t worry, I gave them what for and they’re going to comp us some champagne. Hope you and James will be there?’ Tension built in my chest. I wasn’t a fan of Lordy Lauren at the best of times but this time she’d crossed a line. ‘Lauren, you know very well my charity brunch is that day.’ I didn’t even try to keep the bitterness from my tone. ‘Is it?’ Her tone was forcedly flippant and it served only to turn up the flame beneath my already simmering anger. I’d known Lauren for years through the golf club and our relationship was strained to say the least. We were ‘social acquaintances’ at best but she was rather unpleasant towards me on most occasions and I had no real idea why. I struggled to believe she’d clashed our events by accident. As much as I wanted to give her what for, I was a lady, and had my dignity to maintain, so instead regrettable words oozed out from between my clenched teeth. ‘We will be at the ball.’ I paused. She wasn’t getting away that easily. ‘Can I count on you to attend my brunch? You did RSVP after all.’ ‘That’s wonderful news about the ball, dear, and I’ll try my best to make brunch. Ciao for now.’ She hung up and I took a few deep breaths until I could relax my grip on the steering wheel and refocus on the job at hand. As I sat concocting my plan, I heard an engine cut through the night’s silence. Through my rear-view mirror, I could see the headlights of a car pulling out of the cul-de-sac. As it passed I sunk low into my seat. My windows were tinted but not blacked out so I had to be cautious. I did, however, manage to make out the sleek lines of the seedy-love-mobile – enough for a moment of admiration – and I made a mental note to test-drive a Merc when I was ready to replace the BMW. My father had always taught me to appreciate the finer things in life. He’d come from poverty and, back in the Eighties, life was bleak and we had very little. Dad worked for a haulage company on the brink of collapse and at one point they’d reduced his hours so much I remember my mother crying every time the fridge was empty, raking her fingers through her home-permed hair trying to figure out how to fill it again. A few years later, Dad had a vision and begged, stole, and borrowed enough to buy the failing company for a knock-down price. At the time, he was the talk of the village and a day didn’t pass without me overhearing a neighbour whisper about how foolish he was. He never let the rumours affect him; instead, he redrafted the wagon routes and set up central hubs to make the business more efficient. By the time I was fourteen, we were financially comfortable and he’d packed me off to an upmarket private school where I spent two hellish years trying to fit in. I mean, how’s a teenager supposed to know when Calvin Klein is out and Gucci is in? I just felt lucky to no longer be in clothes passed on by well-meaning family members. That was all water under the bridge now: a distant memory. Thankfully. I glanced down at my J Brand skinnies and stroked them affectionately. Once the Merc was far enough ahead, I started my engine and followed him. We drove towards Manchester, and I almost doubted my earlier suspicions. Perhaps he was just going to pick up Megan from the arena and I was wasting my time on a ‘mission improbable’. Maybe I hadn’t spotted another person in the car after all. But then he turned off towards Rusholme. Yes, Rusholme: where the students live. Mike pulled up outside a terraced house with a small, overgrown front garden and I drove on, turning onto another road further down. I got out of the car and crept to the corner, making sure to stick to the shadows before peering around a privet hedge. There she was, stepping out of his car. I fumbled around in my pocket and pulled out my phone ready to capture the evidence, but in my giddy haste, I was all thumbs, unable to get the screen to unlock in time. Before I knew it, she was inside and he’d driven off. Damn, damn, and double damn. Thwarted, I trudged back to the car and drove home. James was already in bed when I got there so I slipped under the covers quietly, taking care not to disturb him before kissing him gently on the shoulder. The next morning, I was already up making breakfast when he came downstairs. I’d bought those part-cooked pains au chocolat that you pop in the oven for a bit. They’re just like home-cooked ones but without the mess and the effort, which suited me perfectly. ‘Mmm, something smells delicious – you do know how to spoil me.’ He came up behind me and snaked his arms around my waist, kissing my neck as he snuggled in close, sending a tingle up my spine. He was dressed in just his pyjama bottoms and his torso radiated a familiar, comforting heat. ‘Sit down, the coffee is almost brewed,’ I said, pouring him a glass of freshly squeezed orange as I guided him to the table. I loved Sunday mornings. Enjoying a lazy breakfast with my handsome husband couldn’t be beaten. ‘How about a long countryside walk later?’ I asked as I took the pastries out of the oven. I’d hoped to broach the subject of trying for a baby again. We’d discussed it and James said he wanted nothing more than a family of our own, but work was consuming him and there wasn’t exactly much action going on in the bedroom. I needed to bring it up. I wasn’t getting any younger and we’d put off having children when we were younger, to allow time for James’s business to grow. We couldn’t put it off for much longer. It was a case of now . . . or maybe never. ‘I’m sorry, darling, I can’t today. This case is taking everything I have at the moment. You know how big Bracken Peel are and one of the directors has been accused of embezzlement. His imprisonment would completely ruin his life – he has a family and everything. You do understand don’t you?’ He placed his hand on mine. Bracken Peel were a huge FTSE500 company and the case had made the news so I could understand his need to win, but a tiny seed of thought at the back of my brain selfishly wondered why he’d put some director’s family before having one of his own. It was irrational to think that way, I convinced myself, and smiled warmly; I was in awe of his dedication, and had to push my own concerns aside. I’d been dedicated myself when I worked as an accountant, but once James’s legal practice took off, I left to support him in any way I could. Once James and his partners built a team and he no longer needed me in the office, I got into organising charity events and social gatherings until I reached a point where I couldn’t even begin to imagine how I ever had time to work. I shop for locally produced, organic foods; I do yoga; keep up with physical maintenance – facials, light masks, or whatever the latest craze is; prepare meals; and save the rest of my time for James. He likes having me here for him too. ‘Okay, another time then. Here you go.’ I handed him his pastry, rubbing his back with my other hand. ‘The money from this case is going to be huge.’ I tensed on the word ‘money’. It wasn’t that I hated him earning good money – it brought us a wonderful life. I just wondered when James would ever feel like he had enough money to just sit back and enjoy it a bit more. I didn’t feel like we needed extra. ‘It’s going to be worth our while, I promise you.’ He kissed me on the head and then bit into his pastry. It was probably just as well he was busy since I still had to catch that cheating rat of a fianc? of Megan’s. I couldn’t believe how I’d messed it up the previous evening. I never messed up. I’m the type of person who’d once spent a whole twenty-four hours feeling like a failure because I’d forgotten to put the wheelie bin out in time for collection. Leaving James at the table eating his breakfast, I went upstairs to get my phone. My first thought was to get in touch with Megan to see if she had any idea about her fianc?’s indiscretions. I tapped out a quick text: Megan, I accidentally ate a full Hotel Chocolat pistachio and honey slab last night. My thighs have swollen to double their size. Any chance of an extra session today? Admittedly, it was far-fetched because I always try to eat healthily and would never wolf down a bar of chocolate that size, but I did eat a good quarter of one yesterday afternoon. A long run afterwards had probably dealt with the calories but to be honest, Megan was unlikely to question it – she knew I could be overdramatic at times. Knowing Megan wouldn’t turn down the extra thirty quid, I slipped into my gym kit and waited. Bingo. Less than five minutes later I got her reply: Okay, be there in thirty minutes Right on time, she was buzzing at my gate, and I went out to greet her on the driveway. Megan looked fresh in her colourful geometric-print workout leggings and matching cropped top, which showcased her lean stomach and visible six-pack. Her honey-coloured hair was scraped back into a high ponytail and her flawless caramel skin required no make-up. Why Mike felt the need for an affair was anybody’s guess. I’d never understood why men took such risks when they already had the perfect woman by their side. I was so fortunate to have found James. ‘Thank you so much for coming over on a Sunday. I’ve been consumed by chocolate-induced guilt.’ I shook my head – not so much for effect, but more because the thought of eating that much chocolate really did make me feel like a glutton. She gave me a wry smile. ‘Is this as bad as the time you ate two bread rolls and thought you were nine months pregnant with a loaf?’ I knew she thought I was being over-the-top, but Megan knows I’m conscious of how I look. She would say vain, but that’s only because I don’t know what else to talk to her about other than weight and exercise. She’s a personal trainer for goodness’ sake! James loves my figure and he gives me so much that staying in shape is something I can do to keep him happy in return. Besides, once you hit thirty, you really have to work a little harder to keep the pounds off and the bread rolls do make more of a difference than they perhaps would have done a decade before. Ageing is a bitch. ‘I thought you and James were trying for a baby?’ she asked, like it was an excuse. ‘Trying being the operative word, and only once it happens will I allow myself to put on weight.’ Frustratingly, getting pregnant was the one thing I couldn’t control. ‘You’re like a size six already!’ Megan said, shaking her head. ‘Come on, let’s get those thighs working.’ I was more of an eight to ten, but it was sweet of her to say, and I was hardly going to argue. We headed to the room off the kitchen that James and I had built behind the garage. It was going to be a snug, as that seemed to be the trend, but then I had the amazing idea of turning it into a mini gym after watching one of those ‘celebrity homes’ programmes. We’d kitted it out with a running machine, cross-trainer, and bike, plus all the kettlebells, dumbbells, and fitness stuff you could ever need. It sometimes irritated me when Megan ignored the equipment altogether and made me do burpees, but just that once, I let her have her way without complaining. ‘Let’s get you warmed up. Start with forty seconds of jumping jacks.’ No pain, no gain. ‘Okay.’ I began. ‘Did you enjoy the Sam Smith concert last night?’ I asked, panting as I jumped. She smiled and gushed for well over the specified forty seconds about how amazing it was. I carried on jumping with a smile fixed to my face – it never seems right to stop until told to, does it? I must’ve jumped for at least eighty seconds (it felt more like ten solid minutes) and it was hard, trust me. ‘Who did you say you went with? Your fianc?, was it?’ I asked when she’d finally finished extolling the virtues of Mr Smith. ‘No, he’s not a fan. Besides, it was a girls-only night. I went with Mike’s brother’s wife.’ She smiled. I hoped she didn’t remember that she’d already told me who she was going with. ‘Well, at least he could pick you up afterwards,’ I prompted. She laughed. ‘We were out too late for that. He was already asleep when I got in.’ I’ll bet he was. Worn out no doubt! The poor woman had absolutely no idea what her husband-to-be was up to. I had to catch him out. I allowed her to inflict burpees upon me and then surprisingly, we did actually use my kettlebells. By the end of the workout, my muscles burnt and my chest felt light. I felt good. ‘Thank you so much for coming over.’ I handed her three crisp ten-pound notes. ‘Not a problem. Same time tomorrow?’ I nodded. Mondays were one of our regular days along with Wednesdays and Fridays – I just hoped I’d be able to move my legs by then. After Megan left I took a shower then sat in the orangery to work on my plan. The garden views always instilled in me a state of calm but the grass was looking a little longer than I liked, so Jim the gardener obviously hadn’t been. Recently, he’d missed a few weeks here and there, and I’d started to wonder why he called himself a professional since he wasn’t very good or reliable. I made a mental note to contact Sam, the owner of the gardening company, to let him know. With any luck, he’d send someone else. Sam and James were old university acquaintances so I was sure he’d be accommodating. My phone buzzed with a message. Charlotte, I’m terribly sorry. I’m unable to make the charity brunch. I’ve popped a donation in the post and we’ll catch up at the ball. Emmy x I sighed. I knew guests would drop like flies when they caught wind of Lauren’s ball date clash. Coiffured curls and Charlotte Tilbury smoky eyes were more important to those shallow types than showing support for a good cause and a ball always trumps a brunch. I was furious with Lauren, and Emmy Walters wouldn’t be the only one to back out. After her recent lipo, she was probably petrified of eating two full meals in one day. I grit my teeth and tapped out a response. Not to worry, Emmy, I appreciate the length of time it will take you to get ready. Thank you anyway for your generous support. Since I’m attending the brunch and the ball, perhaps I’ll see you in the evening. Xx I deleted the kisses, because nothing makes a point better than the number of kisses at the end of a message. Right, back to business. My first task was to find out who the scarlet woman was. From there I’d decide how best to tell Megan. ‘I’m going shopping,’ I called to James, knowing that wouldn’t rouse suspicion on his part. I wasn’t sure how I’d justify my actions to James – he could never understand why I got involved with problems that weren’t my own, which was silly. I was helping people just like he did every day. Outside I saw that the drizzle had dampened the small red bricks of the house, transforming them into a murky brown colour. I couldn’t wait for summer. Winter had been months of spirit-inhibiting grey drizzle, so some heat and sun would be quite welcome. I pressed my key fob and the black cast-iron gates at the end of the driveway creaked open. I made a second mental note to call the handyman to oil them. With James being so busy, I really had to take care of all these things. I drove to the house that Mike had dropped the mystery woman off at the previous night. It looked even worse in the stark light of day: weeds had sprung up between the broken slats of the cheap wooden fence. The upper half of the small property was pebble-dashed, and part of that had chipped away. The door had been painted purple. Purple? Had I liked the woman, I’d have probably arranged for a few of my contacts to spruce the place up for her. Small and simple plans are the key to success; long, elaborate plans leave too much room for failure. Quite frankly, I didn’t even have a plan. I snuggled into my heated seat and contemplated what to do. I had a few options to consider, including knocking on the door under the pretence of having got the wrong address; waiting in the car until she came out and then following her to get a feel for her routine and how I might catch her; or giving up and going home. But giving up wasn’t in my nature. As it happens, the decision was made for me, when the door opened and a young woman came out. Younger than me, anyway. Around twenty-seven give or take. She had thick shiny chestnut hair and was wearing some kind of yoga attire. Well, if you live in a place that looks like that I suppose one has to achieve a relaxed state somehow, I thought, already stressed just looking at the unkempt appearance of the house. The sun broke through the clouds, glinting off the moist pavement and privet hedges. Squinting a little – an action that would definitely deepen my emerging crow’s feet – I rummaged in the glove box for some sunglasses, pulling out some old Chanel cat’s-eye ones that I kept in there for emergencies. I wondered absent-mindedly if they were still in style. Despite my fashion-crisis interlude, I never took my eyes off the woman. She had a mat-roll slung over her shoulder and walked briskly to the end of the street. As she turned the corner, I fired up my engine and crept along the street until I spotted her again at a bus stop. Pulling over, I checked my make-up in the mirror. It was difficult to tell, but there was a slight possibility the lady at the Lanc?me counter had recommended the wrong colour eyebrow pencil. It looked more orange than beige, but it could have been the light. Debating whether to return the offending pencil, I belatedly realised that a single-decker bus had pulled up at the stop and had set off with the woman on board. My heart started to race as I turned the corner to follow it with no clue as to where we’d end up. As I drove, my mind wandered through the what-ifs: what if she’d noticed the car, knew I was following her, and was leading me to some dodgy disused warehouse on the outskirts of town so she could bump me off before I could disclose her sordid affair? I laughed out loud at my own imagination. Too many thrillers, Charlotte! I shook my head. Plus, she’d hardly be taking the number 84 if that was her evil plan. The bus was heading away from the town centre, towards the outlying village where Megan lived. Interesting. I knew she wouldn’t be heading to see Mr Megan in the cold light of day, and, of course, I was right. She got off the bus on the high street, which was convenient for me as there was a Costa Coffee there where I could top up my caffeine levels. I pulled over and watched as she entered a door set between a bridal shop and a children’s shoe shop. Adrenaline coursed through me as I climbed out of the car and approached the door. There were no prizes for guessing she was on her way to a Pilates session. What was puzzling, however, was the choice of venue: Megan’s studio. Chapter Two (#ulink_c9c688b5-9070-53c8-9c4c-96b0e32414fd) My mouth curled into an involuntary smirk. It wasn’t because I found the situation funny – I was horrified and felt deeply sorry for Megan. It was the fact that this woman could brazenly visit not only Megan’s house but also her place of work. Don’t get me wrong, I admire brave, strong women who go after what they want but not when the thing they go after is a man who’s already spoken for. With phase one of my plan successfully executed, I needed to work on my next move, so I went into Costa, ordered an Americano with skimmed milk, and scanned the edible offerings. To be honest, I’d normally select the fruit pot given it’s the most figure-friendly option, but I was too tightly wound so went for the gluten-free brownie instead, promising myself I’d eat just half and save the rest for James. With my order complete, I sat at a table by the window. Scarlet woman had gone inside at ten to one; chances were the class would last an hour, starting at one o’clock. Phase two: sit for an hour in Costa and drink my body weight in coffee. I passed the time flicking through news and my Instagram feed on my phone, and at one point, I even went and got the complimentary newspaper off the rack and skimmed that. I wondered if I should just tell Megan what I saw and let her decide what to do but there was the possibility she wouldn’t believe me or that Mike would talk his way out of it. I disregarded the idea. The only way Megan could make a decision was by being in possession of the facts. The last dribble of coffee was cold when I drank it, and the wrapper of the brownie lay empty on the table. I couldn’t believe I’d eaten it all, which was a) worrying because I never let my guard down, and b) a travesty because I’d not even savoured the delicious taste. I looked at my watch: it was 2 p.m. I shuffled on the chair, trying to relieve the numbness in my bottom as I sat, staring out of the window with my eyes fixed on the door. A few women of various shapes and sizes started to trickle out, and I scanned them one by one. No, no, no . . . There! A slender figure emerged much sweatier than before and, unbelievably, she was chatting to Megan, like they were friends. Megan was showing her a stretch that looked like it was for a specific problem area in the lower back. I didn’t have to wonder how she got that particular issue. I wanted to run over there and throttle her. Of course, there was the possibility that Mike had hidden the wedding pictures at their house and she didn’t actually know Megan was his fianc?e, but my instinct disagreed. Megan left and the woman walked back to the bus stop. I assumed by her sweaty attire she’d be heading home for a shower. I tapped my fingers on the table, thinking of my next move. She wouldn’t be meeting him today because Megan had mentioned a quiet night in with Mike and a takeaway, so I decided to call it a day and then follow her again in the morning. With Megan working, chances were there would be another meet-up the next day, and if not, at least I’d be able to find out a bit more about this woman – where she worked and such. I gathered my things and returned to my car. It wouldn’t be long before I got my evidence. James was working when I got home, so I tiptoed into the office and kissed him on the top of his head. He hair smelt fresh like he’d just showered – the distinctive scent of bergamot, jasmine, and cedarwood gave away the fact he’d used my ESPA purifying shampoo. As I hovered over him, he raised his right arm to rub my shoulder and I kissed him again before heading to the kitchen to make dinner. I had my speciality to prepare: roast lamb with all the trimmings. Of course, I mostly ate the veg since lamb is so fatty, but James loved lamb, and he’d been working so hard, he deserved his favourite. When I’d put it out, I sat at the dinner table after calling him, sitting on ceremony waiting for him to join me. When he did come down he took his plate and said, ‘This smells delicious – you’re an amazing woman, Charlotte,’ and went upstairs. I sighed. It was just one more day, which shouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things should it? Perhaps I was fixating on James and his work because I was an only child and my parents were off travelling the world and had no intention of coming home until their money ran out. I had a close friend, Kate, who was more than capable of leading her own life and there were the women from the golf club who I mingled with for the benefit of my husband. If I had a baby, I’d have a purpose. Someone who needed me and loved me unconditionally and who I could love, protect, and teach about the world (and occasionally swaddle in baby Burberry). The next morning, I woke at seven o’clock, and James had already left for work. I always felt a bit lost when I woke up in an empty house. He must have let me sleep in, which was thoughtful, but I loved making his breakfast and chatting while we ate, and when he snuck off, I felt robbed of that time. I’d been robbed of that time a lot recently. Once I’d got up and completed my morning routine – shower, rejuvenating face mask, moisture regime, and yoga stretches – I was ready for the day. Megan had asked if she could see me later in the evening instead of my usual morning slot as she had a new client to see, and that suited me fine since I wanted to get to that woman’s house earlyish. I was there by eight. By eight-fifteen, she was stepping out of her house in a nondescript outfit of black trousers and a white blouse, which meant she could be an employee almost anywhere within a commutable distance. Once again, I followed her as she took the bus towards Manchester city centre. Before we reached the centre, she got off the bus at a small retail park on the outskirts of town. I remembered Megan saying something about her fianc? working in a tile shop, and I noticed a large tile discount store on the park. It was too obvious. I scanned the rest of the park; there was an electrical shop, a furniture shop, and baby shop, which gave me a small pang in my chest when I saw it. I made a mental note of it, just because. In the far corner, there was a small greasy-spoon caf?. I’d have put money on her working there, so when I saw her walk in, I wasn’t surprised. In need of a coffee myself, I wandered in a few minutes later, taking a table by the window. A waitress, not her, approached me soon after. ‘Hi there, can I get you anything to drink?’ asked the slightly plump lady. She had a friendly face, framed by fluffy yellow hair. I eyed the coffee machine, which had a digital display, push buttons, and not a fresh coffee bean in sight and dismissed the idea of a cappuccino. ‘Now this looks like the kind of place that serves wonderful fresh filter coffee,’ I said instead, smiling warmly in hope. ‘We do.’ She smiled. ‘Nobody orders it since I caved in and bought that new-fangled machine when people jumped on the cappuccino bandwagon. I’ll brew some fresh for you, love.’ She patted my hand and sauntered off before I had the chance to thank her. ‘This smells delicious,’ I said as she placed the steaming mug of black coffee in front of me a little while later. ‘Do you have any skimmed milk?’ ‘We have semi?’ she said while I internally groaned. ‘Actually, I’ll take it black,’ I said, smiling politely. I was about to save Megan the humiliation of a cheating fianc? but I wasn’t about to risk looking like a sausage in my Herve Leger bandage dress for the cause. The waitress left and I saw her come out of the back, tying a black apron around her tiny waist. She was quite pretty, which I hated to admit, and on closer inspection, I’d estimate her age to have been around twenty-eight. Still a good ten years younger than Megan and very attractive. She pottered behind the counter and I caught her eyeing the door every now and then, obviously looking out for him. I sipped my surprisingly rich coffee, fixing my eyes on the entrance to the tile shop. Just before nine o’clock, the door swung open and Mike walked in before he’d even gone into the tile shop. Coffee and a kiss before work? My heart rate picked up as I watched him glide over to the counter, keeping my head down so he didn’t recognise me. ‘Good morning.’ He elongated the word ‘good’ in a way that made my skin crawl. His sugar-sweet smile was enough to bring on type-two diabetes. ‘Hey you,’ she said shyly. I couldn’t see her, but I knew if I could, she’d be twirling hair around her finger and kinking her knee coquettishly. I fixed my gaze on the window to appear dismissive of their exchange. ‘I missed you yesterday,’ he said quietly. I imagined him tracing his finger across her hand. ‘I missed you too.’ In my mind, she was looking up at him from beneath long fluttery eyelashes. It would’ve been a sweet exchange if it wasn’t for the next part. ‘Megan is out this evening and I have the house to myself if you want to come over. The client she’s visiting has a two-hour slot and always keeps her chatting afterwards.’ I don’t, for the record. Just as he finished speaking, two builders came in, talking several decibels above what was necessary. Frustratingly, I missed her reply. ‘Come about six,’ I just caught him saying as his words travelled through the sneeze of a workman. I drank the last of my coffee and left. *** I got on top of all my chores at home, preparing the veg for a stir-fry dinner, ringing the handyman to come and look at the gate and finalising the details for my charity brunch. I just had the small matter of ensuring I’d still have some guests attending. By 6 p.m. I was in my gym gear, twiddling my thumbs with boredom when the intercom buzzed. I took a deep breath. For my plan to work, I had to time it right so that his company had arrived before I sent Megan home, without leaving it too late that Megan missed her again. ‘Hi, Megan,’ I said heavily as she approached the door, laying the foundations for my excuse. ‘You okay?’ she asked, picking up on my tone. ‘Just, you know, that time of the month,’ I lied, lowering my voice. ‘We can reschedule if you like?’ Not a chance. ‘No, you’ve come all this way. Let’s see how I get on.’ We walked through to the gym and she went easy on me for my warm-up, choosing to put me on the bike as opposed to giving me a few minutes’ worth of jumping jacks. As it approached six-thirty I started to slow down, momentarily clutching my stomach here and there. ‘Actually, Megan, I’m sorry but can we stop? My cramps are getting worse and I’ve already taken the maximum dose of painkillers. I’ll pay for the full session of course,’ I said, bending over to rest my head on the handlebar for effect. She looked at me sympathetically. ‘Of course we can, but you don’t have to pay,’ she said, but I knew she needed the money and it was worth it to save her from cheating Mike so I thrust it into her hand and held up a finger to shush her when she tried to protest. She reluctantly left just after six-thirty once I'd told her she needn’t fill my hot water bottle or run me a bath. It was perfect timing. I spent the rest of the evening cleaning anxiously. I needed to stay busy so I made up the guest bedroom with new bedding, even though Janine the cleaner had done it recently and it hadn’t even been slept on since we never had guests to stay. I cleaned the oven and reorganised the fridge. Every now and then I checked my phone, not that I expected Megan would call me in the event of her whole life falling apart. Maybe I hoped she would. I played out the scene in my mind: her returning home early to find them in bed together, having to drag the girl out of her home then throwing out all of her fianc?’s clothes after cutting holes in them or setting them on fire on the front lawn or something. I wondered if I should go round, but that would’ve been overstepping the mark so instead, I paced the kitchen until James came home. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, kissing me on the forehead as he came in. ‘Nothing, I’m just hungry. I was waiting for you, hoping we could eat together?’ He replied with a smile and walked over to the wine fridge, pulling out an unopened bottle of Villa Maria. Without asking, he poured us both a glass of crisp Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc and handed me one, obviously aware I was tense. ‘My mother said she’d pop round tomorrow,’ he said casually. The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. ‘Wonderful.’ A night of defending my own self-worth. I forced a smile. His mother had an opinion on everything and a tendency to be overbearing. She’d never said it but being from a wealthy, traditional family herself, she hated the ‘nouveau riche’, as she called anyone wealthy who wasn’t from old money – and I suspected that’s how she saw my family. Not that my family were even that wealthy or anything; my dad had just done ‘all right’ as her family had, just generations before. My parents spoke in a broad, local dialect, a trait I’d initially inherited and quickly adjusted in an attempt to fit in at school. They didn’t have degrees or ‘high-society standard’ social etiquette and always loved a good bargain, which horrified Frances. But if she’d ever given them a chance she’d have witnessed their kindness, generosity and sense of fun. I think she’d always hoped that James and I were just having a fling and that he’d one day miraculously come to his senses and marry someone of higher social status but since that hadn’t happened she’d accepted her fate and thawed slightly. She’d gone from deep-freeze to refrigerator – meaning I could now breathe and speak in her presence, but it was still hard work through the chatter of my teeth. ‘I’m working late so I said you’d be around. She’s going to stay for dinner.’ Typical. There was a time I’d hoped to bond with James’s mother, especially after my own had left to go travelling with Dad, but it hadn’t happened and I was past caring. ‘That’s wonderful – I’ll do baked salmon.’ I took a long sip of wine. The crisp citrus taste cut through my tension, and I rolled my shoulders before taking my pre-prepared stir-fry ingredients from the fridge. James snaked his arms around my waist and peered over my shoulder. ‘That looks good.’ ‘So, have you time to eat at the dinner table or shall I bring it through to the office when it’s done?’ I tensed anticipating his reply. He peered at his watch and twisted his mouth. ‘Better have a working dinner I’m afraid. You’re so good to me.’ ‘Of course.’ I tried to keep my body from sagging when everything sunk inside. He did appreciate me at least. After I’d cooked the stir-fry and taken James’s up to the office, I sat at the single place setting I’d laid out on the breakfast bar and ate my food dutifully, punctuating each forkful with a sip of wine whilst trying to remain positive. *** The next morning, I awoke alone with a fuzzy head and the depressing thought of James’s mother visiting. I showered and dressed smartly in an oyster-coloured silk blouse and khaki capri pants and completed the look with my pearl necklace. It was the type of outfit I always wore in my mother-in-law’s company because she was a judgemental so-and-so. James thought it was a dowdy look and I agreed with him, but needs must if I didn’t wish to see a raised eyebrow. I slipped on some gold wedges and the dainty gold Tiffany bracelet that James had bought me for our anniversary the previous year, before grabbing my handbag and heading to the fishmonger’s for a fresh salmon. Once I’d got back in my car, my fingers twitched on the steering wheel, fighting against my better judgement. I wanted to drive past Megan’s house to look for signs of drama: clothes on the lawn, a vandalised Merc . . . Despite being driven crazy with wanting to know what happened, I’d have to wait another day to see her. Instead, I pressed the call button on my steering wheel, rang Kate, and arranged to meet her at a Greek restaurant in Wilmslow for lunch. ‘Charlotte, darling, how are you?’ she said, air-kissing my cheeks when I arrived. She was dressed to the nines as she always was, in a pink mini-dress that, thanks to my Vogue subscription, I knew was Valentino. She also had the Valentino Rockstud shoulder bag, of which I was particularly envious because I had the matching sandals. ‘You’re looking as glamorous as ever,’ I said. Kate was the type of woman who’d have a Kir Royale for breakfast and a hotdog for lunch. She was gorgeous, wealthy, and did whatever the hell she pleased – James’s mother would call her ‘nouveau riche’ too and Kate would tell her to ‘eff off’. She giggled and brushed off my comment with her hand. The waiter came over and took us to our table, predictably sitting Kate down first because she looked more important than I did in my drab mother-in-law-friendly attire. He probably thought she was some glossy celebrity and I was her dull behind-the-scenes assistant. ‘So, tell me what’s been happening since I last saw you. Are you . . .’ She circled her hand in the direction of my stomach, not concerning herself with etiquette. I shook my head, placing a self-conscious hand across my middle while cursing that brownie I’d eaten at Costa. ‘Not yet. James is busy working a huge case and always comes home late and tired, so there just hasn’t been any time to try.’ ‘No time to try?’ She threw her head back and laughed. ‘You mean you haven’t got the right underwear.’ She winked. I laughed and shook my head. ‘Dressing like that isn’t helping your cause.’ She looked pointedly at my blouse. ‘I thought it was maternity wear.’ ‘Frightful Frances is coming over later.’ She gave me a knowing look. ‘As long as you have something more fun to wear in the bedroom you’ll be fine.’ ‘You’re obsessed.’ I laughed. Kate had landed on her feet with husband number two: wealthy property tycoon and renowned local businessman Carl, who worshipped the ground she walked on. You couldn’t blame him, though – her black glossy hair tumbled down her back, complementing her long, lean limbs. She had flawless olive skin, thanks to Italian heritage on her mother’s side, and although she’d hit her forties, had yet to discover a fine line anywhere on her face. ‘What does his mother want anyway?’ ‘I’ve no idea. To wither my soul, to suck the life from me or to badger me about grandkids probably. That’s her “new thing” to focus on. Since James’s dad died she’s been visiting a lot, and it’s tiresome. She’s discovered a new sense of family and my lucky womb is suddenly part of her vision.’ I paused as the waiter approached and we ordered Greek salads and a glass of champagne each. ‘I thought she hated you? So she isn’t still crossing her fingers in the hope James will run off and leave you for some blue-blood horsey type?’ I shrugged. ‘I don’t know, she’s been banging on about grandchildren since James’s dad’s funeral. Maybe she thinks a half-breed grandchild is better than no grandchild at all. Anyway, enough of her. Are you going to Lauren’s ball?’ ‘Er, no.’ Kate hated Lauren and Carl didn’t play golf so it was a desperate ask at best. ‘I can’t make it anyway; you know I’m down in London that weekend at some presentation thing with Carl.’ ‘Lucky so-and-so.’ ‘Not necessarily – I actually have to go with him to the ceremony and not just while the time browsing Liberty and if it’s anything like last time, I’ll spend the night drinking cheap wine that tastes like it’s trying to kill me.’ She winced at the memory. ‘I can’t believe that hideous mare had the gall to move the date to clash with your brunch.’ ‘I know, but it’s typical Lauren. I don’t know what that woman has against me.’ ‘Jealousy. Her husband barely has a pulse and still manages to shag half of Cheshire behind her back. You’re happy, you have a gorgeous husband who worships you, and she can’t bear it.’ ‘I don’t think she’s jealous, I think she looks down on me,’ I said modestly but if Kate was right about the jealousy (I knew she was right about the husband) it would explain a lot and I’d feel sorry for her. ‘Why are you even friends with them?’ ‘Other than you, they’re the only people I know.’ ‘Just don’t go.’ ‘We have to – she rang me up to make sure we’d be there, and I really don’t want the whole of Cheshire’s elite thinking James and I are tight-fisted and antisocial. We’ll have to show our faces. Anyway, I have something juicier to discuss.’ I filled her in on my situation with Megan’s fianc?. Kate had met Megan at my house on a few occasions when she’d been visiting while I had a training session. ‘Men can be utter pigs,’ Kate said in response. ‘It’s not just men, though. Women can be as bad,’ I said diplomatically. ‘I suppose, but cheating men are so clich?. Well, I think you’ve done the right thing.’ But hearing her say that made me question myself. I didn’t often suffer self-doubt, but Kate agreeing wasn’t necessarily a good thing. When we’d watched The Devil Wears Prada a few years back, she'd thought Miranda was the heroine and Andy the annoying antagonist. Fortunately, she’d mellowed some since then. ‘You don’t think I should’ve left it alone?’ I asked. ‘Of course not. Women should stick together. I’d want to know – wouldn’t you?’ Kate raised her glass, but I didn’t return the gesture. ‘We’ll see tomorrow.’ Chapter Three (#ulink_9d06c95f-14af-5ae1-a6fc-54e4b36804aa) When the intercom buzzed later that afternoon, a feeling of dread engulfed me. On my way to press the button, I checked my hair and make-up. The intercom feed was monochrome and grainy, but James’s mother would still notice if a hair was out of place. ‘Hello, Frances,’ I said as I pressed the button, forcing a smile. ‘Charlotte,’ she said without a hint of pleasantry. I opened the gate, inwardly cursing James for not being home early, and waited at the door as Frances breezed in. ‘James not home?’ she asked, walking straight to the kitchen. Why she couldn’t use a full sentence when she spoke to me both puzzled and infuriated me in equal measure. ‘Not yet, he’ll be back a little later.’ I followed her reluctantly down the hallway. She heaved two bulging carrier bags up onto the worktop, which I regarded with curiosity. ‘I brought dinner.’ ‘Oh, Frances, thank you, but I’ve prepared dinner already. You should take that home and use it all another day.’ ‘Well, James mentioned something about salmon, and I wasn’t sure where you’d be buying it. You can’t guarantee low mercury levels if you don’t know where it’s from.’ She pulled a salmon out from one of her bags whilst I stared on in disbelief. She plonked the fish next to my ready-marinated one and rolled up her sleeves. Heat seared through my chest but I remained calm, for James’s sake. ‘What did you use?’ She pointed to my version of a Jamie Oliver marinade. ‘Err . . . red chillies, lemongrass, garlic, soy sauce.’ As I spoke, she rummaged in the fridge, pulling out the ingredients as I reeled them off, plus the rest that I was too shocked to recall. ‘It looks fairly adequate. I’ll whip something up while you pour the wine.’ Pour the wine – that was the first decent thing she’d said since she arrived. The wine fridge was a particular favourite of mine and James’s, made even better by the fact it was in the utility room, giving me a brief respite from Frances. I poured two glasses and threw half of mine down my neck before topping up my glass and heading back into the kitchen, where Frances was bashing coriander and ginger with the mortar and pestle I’d washed and dried only half an hour earlier. I handed Frances a glass and affixed a smile. ‘That smells wonderful.’ It smelt exactly the same as mine had when I bashed exactly the same ingredients together earlier. ‘I’ve just added my own twist,’ she said, but a quick scan of the ingredients revealed nothing different to what I’d used, so I assumed she was referring to the dash of bitterness her personality brought. ‘I’ve been meaning to speak to you alone for a while,’ she added as she proceeded to rub the salmon with the marinade. My heart sunk a little. Surely she hadn’t left it until now to offer to pay me off? ‘Oh?’ My stomach knotted tightly – I wouldn’t have put it past her. ‘Sit down.’ I slid onto the bar stool dutifully and waited for whatever it was she had to say. She pushed the salmon to one side, and if it wasn’t for the extra decorative lemongrass sprigs she’d dumped on hers, we’d have been at serious risk of consuming a mercury-laden main course. ‘It’s about this baby situation. You’re thirty-six now, Charlotte, and in my day, anyone over thirty was admitted to elderly confinement when they were in labour. In other words, you’re getting old and if you wait much longer, you may be too old altogether.’ ‘Frances, people have babies well into their forties now. I think times have changed.’ I felt my cheeks burn. ‘Perhaps they do, but it’s not happening for you and James and I know it’s what you’ve both wanted for a while now.’ She paused to take a breath. ‘I wanted to suggest fertility treatment. You know, the menopause could be just around the corner. It does happen to some women in their thirties.’ As I sipped my wine, I had an overwhelming urge to bite a chunk out of the glass. I clenched my teeth as the next best option before mumbling, ‘I will talk to James about it.’ How was I supposed to tell my mother-in-law that the conception problem preventing her from having a grandchild was her son’s lack of sex drive? ‘I’d like to think the Emsworth family name will continue.’ She raised a well-shaped and highly expectant brow at me. Before I could answer, the front door opened, and as I craned my neck around the door, was relieved to see James putting his briefcase down in the hallway. ‘Good evening, ladies.’ He walked in, looking as handsome as ever. He loosened his tie as he came over and gave me a kiss, squeezing my arm knowingly. ‘Oh, James, it’s good to see you.’ His mother beamed at him as he walked around the breakfast bar to greet her. ‘You too, Mother,’ he said, kissing both of her cheeks dutifully. ‘We were just talking about children.’ I cut into their little embrace, so James would know what I’d been dealing with. He gave me a quizzical look. ‘Oh, let’s not bother him with that. He’s just walked in.’ Frances waved a dismissive hand. ‘Why don’t you sit down, James, and Charlotte will get you a glass of wine.’ She shot me a look before putting the salmon in the oven, and I dutifully went to get wine. The last thing I wanted was to cause more tension. I returned to find Frances telling James how wonderfully hardworking he was. I handed him his wine, and as his mother turned her back to finish chopping some salad, I felt his hand graze my bottom. I smacked it away playfully and went to set the table, feeling a little bit lighter. *** I paced the living room, waiting for Megan to arrive. Right on time, I saw her car at the gate, and I pressed the button on the intercom to open them before she even rang. There was a part of me that hadn’t even expected her to turn up, and who would’ve blamed her? I could only assume she was going through hell. It had driven me mad to the point that I’d almost considered James’s mother turning up a welcome distraction – until she accused me of being menopausal that was. When I opened the front door, Megan smiled cheerfully and bounced inside in a brightly coloured top with a ‘unicorn’ emblazoned on it. I wondered if her upbeat demeanour was just a front and eyed her suspiciously, scrutinising her face, looking for cracks in the fa?ade. There was nothing notable. She caught me looking at her. ‘Is everything okay? Has my mascara smudged?’ She wiped a finger under her lash-line. ‘Everything is fine. You look . . . well. Really well, in fact,’ I said, trying to conceal my surprise. ‘I had a Guinot facial yesterday. It was a present from Mike,’ she gushed. She was happy. She didn’t catch him! He must have changed his plans. ‘Anyway, how are you?’ She furrowed her brow in concern. ‘Did your cramps die down?’ It took me a moment to figure out what she was talking about, and I nodded, too busy reeling at how slippery Meandering Mike was. I needed a better plan. ‘I bet Mike was glad to have you home early?’ I pressed, needing to know why my plan had failed. ‘He was out when I got home.’ She shrugged. ‘Let’s get started then.’ While she fiddled with her iPhone trying to get some music to come on, I replayed the conversation Mike had had with the waitress over in my head. He’d definitely said ‘come over.’ I was sure of it. ‘That’s a shame,’ I continued, not willing to let the subject drop yet. ‘Well, I did ring him on the way home to tell him I’d be back early, but he was already leaving to go to the gym. It was nice to have the TV to myself though.’ I knew my part of the plan hadn’t been flawed. She’d warned him. I could picture them, all red-faced, scrabbling around for their clothes before escaping into the evening. ‘Anyway, come on – we only have an hour today.’ She gave me an intense sixty-minute workout, but while I went through the motions, my mind was plotting a better, more foolproof plan. *** When it came off the printer the next morning, it looked fantastic. One of the charities I organised fundraisers for was a local hospice, who just so happened to be in need of a wheelchair-accessible swing – and they were five hundred pounds short. A few weeks earlier, I’d come up with the idea of a raffle and donated the prize of one night at the Halcyon Hotel with a two-course meal and use of the spa thrown in. Raffle tickets would be five pounds, and one hundred per cent of the proceeds would go to the charity. My intention was to sell them at the brunch I was throwing but I’d had a better idea. I’d spent the morning putting together a promotional flyer with photos of the spa, and it all looked very enticing. All I had to do was get waitress woman to buy a ticket, and hope she’d share the prize with Mike. But first, I had to make it look like the tickets were selling out. The next hour or so was spent using my address book to fill in the names and addresses of people who had already purchased tickets – just not to their own knowledge. Then I took some money from the safe and stuffed it in the tin before putting on my charity lanyard and heading over to the caf?. I walked in and spotted her straight away, pottering behind the counter. ‘Oh, hello, what can I get you?’ she asked. The nice filter coffee lady was nowhere to be seen and I wasn’t chancing the push-button cappuccino. ‘Nothing, actually. I’m here from the Springwell Children’s Hospice and was hoping to sell off one of my last few remaining raffle tickets to raise money for a new disability swing. If I could just show you what the hospice manager is hoping to purchase, you’ll see what a great addition it will be.’ I handed her a booklet from the hospice with a picture of a child enjoying a similar swing elsewhere. ‘Oh, yes it does look wonderful, but—’ she said politely sliding the booklet back towards me. ‘I could tell when I walked in you had a kind heart and for just a five-pound contribution, you could not only help the children at the hospice, but also win an all-expenses stay at the Halcyon Hotel in Manchester next weekend. The package includes a spa day and evening meal with a Prosecco welcome and one hundred per cent of the ticket money raised goes to the charity.’ I held up the hotel poster, which she eyed with interest. The corner of her mouth twisted. ‘Oh go on then! Yes, I’ll buy a ticket. I’ve always wanted to stay there; it looks gorgeous doesn’t it?’ I struggled to control myself. This is even easier than I’d imagined. ‘That’s wonderful,’ I said, plastering on a smile. ‘Can you just fill in your contact details here for me so I can get in touch if you win?’ She bent down to fill in the heavily populated form and emptied five pounds from her tip jar before handing it over. ‘Thank you, and good luck.’ I grinned at her before leaving. On my way home, I dropped off five hundred pounds to the very grateful manager at the Springwell Hospice and sent a text to Megan. I want a Pilates reformer for the gym. Would you mind coming with me to choose one on Saturday? *** Friday morning was the day of my brunch. I wanted to raise money for the local dog rescue centre and with the guests all pulling out to pamper themselves for Lauren’s ball, I was worried nobody would show up. The banquet hall was set up for the fifty original guests but Emmy and her posse had already taken that number down to forty-two. However, they’d donated eight hundred pounds between them, and paid for tickets, which was very kind but I was still in panic mode at the thought of empty seats. I’d almost caved in and invited Frances and her cronies. I stood nervously, greeting people as they trickled in, smiling politely and pointing out the drinks trays when my breath caught in my throat at a recognisable, ear-piercing shrill: ‘Charlotte.’ Mwah, mwah. Lauren had arrived and air-kissed both of my cheeks before I’d had time to register her appearance. ‘This is very cute.’ She gestured to the room. Cute? It was lavish with thick white tablecloths and matching chair covers, good quality silverware and champagne being served by fully clothed, handsome men. I doubted even Frances would have found anything negative to say. Okay, that was far-fetched. ‘Thank you for coming, Lauren,’ I said, not wanting to make a scene. ‘Yes, well I can’t stay long what with the final ball preparations to tend to. I just thought I’d show my face and drop in a donation.’ She thrust a white envelope into my hand. ‘That’s very kind of you.’ I accepted it graciously. ‘Aw, sweetie, it looks like you needed me too. How many guests do you have? Fifteen?’ She attempted a sympathetic frown but her frozen brow didn’t crease. ‘There were fifty confirmed, which was the maximum for the room but I’ve had some last-minute cancellations.’ She let out a loud, fake laugh and placed a hand on my arm, which I willed her to remove. ‘These Cheshire women – what are they like? They will be preening and pampering themselves for tonight no doubt.’ ‘No doubt,’ I repeated through a tight smile. ‘I’ve one hundred and fifty confirmed for the ball. Tickets started at almost two hundred pounds so I know I’ll make a killing for my charity.’ I took a deep breath; the last thing I wanted was for my voice to crack. ‘That’s wonderful, Lauren. What’s the fundraising for again? James was asking but I couldn’t remember. I just said that knowing Lauren, it would be a fantastic cause.’ ‘Er, yes, it is.’ She swallowed hard and placed a meaningful hand on her chest. ‘It’s for victims of botched cosmetic surgery. These women have nowhere to turn, barely any rights, and the state doesn’t want to know. Our funds help to pay for legal fees and in some cases even corrective surgery so they can live the lives they dreamt of.’ There was a falter in her voice. ‘Goodness me, you’re an ambassador of hope, Lauren. What poor souls.’ Her smile indicated my sarcasm had escaped her, so I pushed it a little more, to ensure she picked up on something. ‘Such a cause must require a turnout of such great numbers. I wanted a smaller more low-key affair, classy and personal, you know?’ ‘But isn’t that –’ Lauren paused to squint at a lady who had just walked in. ‘That’s Janet, you don’t know her – she’s in high-end retail.’ I sipped my champagne and walked off to greet Janet from Budgens’ who’d thankfully agreed to come and boost my numbers. Enticed by some free tickets at the last minute she’d even brought two friends along. Once we were seated and the smoked salmon and scrambled eggs were served, I started to relax and feel wonderful about raising money. It was 3 p.m. by the time I got home. There wasn’t time to get a blow-dry or my make-up done – I had to do it all myself so I went with straight and sleek since my hairdressing skills were just about up to the task of running a GHD over my already professionally straightened locks. The gown section of my wardrobe wasn’t sporting anything new, but I had a black off-the-shoulder cocktail dress from Reiss that I’d only worn to James’s summer ball the previous year, which nobody would have seen, so I decided on that. James walked into the bedroom as I was applying my make-up. ‘Why are you getting all dressed up?’ I spun around to face him. ‘What do you mean? Why aren’t you showered?’ I asked, incredulous. He looked completely taken by surprise. ‘It’s Lauren’s ball tonight. Why aren’t you ready?’ I punctuated with a glare. ‘It’s on the calendar.’ ‘Sorry, Charlotte, I hadn’t seen it. I’ve planned a Skype meeting tonight.’ ‘Then cancel it! It’s Friday night for goodness’ sake.’ ‘I can’t, if I’m not online at 8.30 p.m. sharp, there’ll be hell to pay.’ ‘But having hell to pay with me isn’t an issue?’ He let out a sigh and threw up his arms. ‘I’m sorry but there’s nothing I can do. We got our wires crossed, that’s all. You’ll still have a good time.’ ‘Of course I will, with Emmy and Lauren and co. It will be just fabulous,’ I stormed. ‘Aren’t any of your other friends going?’ ‘Kate’s down in London and . . .’ I paused. ‘I will be fine.’ Butterflies flapped about in my stomach as my car neared the hotel venue. When the driver approached my side of the car and opened the door, I almost asked him to take me home but, if I did that, it would give the women of Cheshire a few good weeks’ worth of gossip fodder. Instead, I put on my brave face and climbed out of the car. Half-naked, gold-painted men holding trays of champagne lined a red carpet up to the entrance and I grabbed a drink gratefully, guzzling it down in time for another one before I’d reached the entrance. ‘Oh, Charlotte, we’re so glad you came.’ Lauren was standing at the entrance in a garish gold, bottom-grazing dress. Her equally unpalatable husband was by her side. I smiled. ‘And what a lovely greeting.’ I gestured to the men. ‘Where’s that delightful husband of yours?’ The corner of her mouth twitched like she was enjoying seeing me arrive alone. Granted it was a little awkward turning up to events like that but she didn’t have to relish in my discomfort. ‘He’s busy with work – he has this huge case going on.’ ‘Well, he needs a better team around him if he still has to work Friday nights,’ Lauren’s husband Giles butted in. ‘Tell him I could teach him a lesson or two.’ Patronising prick. ‘Never mind, Charlotte, there are some ladies from the bridge club who’ve also come alone. You can sit with them.’ I smiled in response and started to walk inside but felt Lauren’s hand on my arm. ‘I love your dress by the way. Isn’t it a 2017 piece?’ There was a hint of smugness in her tone. Anger exploded in my chest. I couldn’t take much more of this woman. ‘Yes, it is. Apparently, garments don’t spontaneously combust at the turn of a season – who knew?’ I spun on my heel and walked over to the table of bridge ladies, which looked like the casting couch for Cocoon. The rest of the evening was rather dull. The elderly bridge ladies didn’t work hard to include me in their conversation, which consisted mostly of loud repetition because one of them ‘doesn’t like to wear her hearing aid any more’ and I found the ‘victim’ speeches a little self-indulgent. Obviously, I’m sorry things didn’t go well for them but they’re all wealthy people; they didn’t need Lauren’s fundraising circus. I’d been working hard to drown out the narcissistic din of Lauren’s speech until hearing my name made my ears prick. ‘Now, Charlotte Emsworth held a sweet little gathering earlier today and I know some of you were invited but couldn’t make it and, well, it possibly lacked the anticipated support. She was trying to raise a few pounds for a dogs’ charity here in Cheshire and I thought the least we could do tonight, would be to dig deep and collect a bit of change for the cause. Since there are so many of you here tonight, I’m sure we can make a real difference.’ She shot me a glossy smile from the stage and my cheeks flamed. There was a round of applause and comments around the table to the tune of ‘what a considerate woman Lauren is’, and ‘what a lovely thing to do.’ But she wasn’t; she was belittling me on purpose. The speeches ended and as the music started, I saw Lauren heading over. Great. ‘Charlotte, I felt terrible about your little event failing today. It’s partly my fault, clashing the dates like that. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.’ She placed a dramatic hand on her brow. ‘I just hope my influence helps your cause.’ ‘Oh, Lauren, I’m sure it will and honestly, don’t worry, organisation is quite a skill. We can’t all be good at everything all of the time.’ I managed a tight-lipped smile. Lauren nodded courteously. ‘Well, everything else has gone so well, I can forgive myself one little slip-up.’ ‘Ha-ha yes.’ I laughed. ‘Probably just your age.’ I batted a hand flippantly to indicate to the bridge ladies I was teasing but it didn’t appear as though any of them were listening. Lauren laughed nervously. ‘Always the joker.’ She glanced around the table and when nobody was paying attention she leaned in closer. ‘But the jokes are on you. You’re a failure; everyone can see that and now you’re here alone, sat on a table of old biddies because not even your husband wants to be around you.’ My heart beat furiously, so quick and powerful it reached my ears drowning everything else out. I couldn’t think or speak. Lauren turned to leave, smirking. I couldn’t let her walk off, thinking she’d won – and what popped out of my mouth next was neither well-thought-out nor elegant but knowing the ladies around the table wouldn’t understand, I went ahead anyway. ‘Hey, Lauren, stunning vajazzle by the way. How brave of you to show it off – good on you!’ I stared pointedly at her receding hemline, which she tugged down on self-consciously as her face reddened. ‘I think you should call a cab home. You’ve obviously drunk too much champagne – though it is free so who can blame you.’ With that she stalked off. I sat there for a moment, processing what had just happened and regret started to mount. Oh God. I threw my head in my hands. Why did I have to say that? I was sure there’d be consequences, not least because vajazzling was so 2011 and she wouldn’t be seen dead with one. I sighed before pulling out my phone and calling the chauffeur company. As I stood up to leave I heard the elderly lady with the hearing aid say a little too loudly to her friend, ‘Vaahjazzle, is that a new designer? I do like to keep up.’ Oh bugger, I thought. Now she turns her hearing aid up. *** I picked Megan up at her house and we went to the huge fitness warehouse on the outskirts of town. As Megan wandered around the leg extension and reformer machines, I observed her, oblivious to what she would soon find out. My heart ached for her as she seemed such a sweet, innocent soul. Not like the women at the charity ball – though I think it was safe to say I was well and truly out of that group. I bumped into Emmy in Budgen’s and said hello but she stone-cold blanked me. She just walked past with her chin up high as if I wasn’t there. She was like some queen-bee cast member from Mean Girls. I probably should have cared more but I had a family to make and cheaters to catch. They could go about saving themselves from the perils of bad surgery and I’d focus on my business. James wouldn’t be impressed when all the men found out but I’d deal with that issue when it arose. ‘The half Cadillac and reformer bundle package would be your best bet,’ Megan mused, breaking my thoughts. ‘You don’t need one though. Honestly, you always throw money at things and you don’t need to.’ ‘It looks great. Let’s order that one.’ It was quite expensive for equipment she’d ignore anyway but needs must. ‘Megan, let me take you for some dinner as a thank you.’ I used my special I-won’t-take-no-for-an-answer tone. She pursed her lips for a moment to consider. ‘That would be lovely. Mike is in London this weekend with work so it would just have been me, a takeaway, and Britain’s Got Talent.’ London? Pah! What, at a tile conference? How can she not see what he’s up to? ‘Somewhere that does a good cocktail would be nice,’ she added, breaking my thoughts. Great food, cocktails, and cheating bastard men. ‘Brilliant. I know just the place.’ The Halcyon Hotel was just as swish as I’d remembered, with its dark, luxurious wallpaper and gold and silver accessories. The doorman wore a smart grey uniform, complemented by a top hat, and held the door open for us as we walked in. ‘This is nice,’ Megan said, drawing out the word nice in a way that might have been annoying had I not felt so sorry for her in anticipation of what was to come. I just smiled and nodded in response. ‘Head to the bar and I’ll see about a table in the restaurant.’ I pointed her in the right direction. The restaurant was dead, but the waitress still kept me waiting whilst she decided if she could seat us. If eating there wasn’t part of my plan to catch Moonlighting Mike, I’d have left. Mike was nowhere to be seen, but the waitress decided she could, in fact, accommodate a table for two after umming and ahhing, then consulting with a higher power, despite the fact the place was empty. At least my plan was on track. I knew the chances were good that Mike and waitress-woman would be dining there at some point, since an early bird dinner was part of the package and that was due to start soon. I’d just have to drag the meal out, which wouldn’t be too difficult. I strode into the bar, ready to settle in for a long evening, but Megan wasn’t there. I scanned the room quickly and then checked the ladies’ loos, stopping for a quick pump of Molton Brown hand cream. But she wasn’t there either. It was odd. I stood in the lobby and started to feel confused. My heart rate even picked up a little. I was so close. Where the bloody hell had she gone? The doorman popped his head inside. ‘Excuse me, madam, are you looking for your friend? She just left. She was in quite a hurry.’ Left?Why would she leave? ‘Okay, thank you.’ I forced a smile, yet everything else sagged. I’d been so close, yet for a second time, I’d failed. I knew I could be a little irritating at times but just ditching me seemed harsh. She’d better have a good excuse. Since I was there and the pornstar martinis were apparently the best in Manchester, I decided one couldn’t hurt and traipsed back into the bar and perched on a stool – James would be out or barricaded in his office anyway. The room was dimly lit in a typically modern boutique style. It followed the same colour scheme as the rest of the hotel – rich grey-brown-coloured walls and metallic features. It was nice, although it was probably a clever Las-Vegas-style sales tactic to trick you into thinking it was evening any time of the day. The barman placed my drink down, and as I took my first sip, I glanced around to take in the rest of the room. That’s when I saw it. A disgusting entanglement of two very deceptive people. Chapter Four (#ulink_8c0feb1e-173f-5aee-abe3-3baec6bea385) ‘I didn’t know where else to go,’ Megan sobbed as I opened my door to her much earlier than she was due to arrive. ‘Oh, Megan, what’s the matter?’ I asked, bracing myself. She fanned her face with her hand, unable to speak, so I ushered her inside. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ She sat at the breakfast bar and I looked her over discreetly. She was a shadow of herself. Her eyes were marred by dark circles, and her face was pink and blotchy. Her sandy-brown hair looked unwashed and hung limply around her face. She scraped it back, taking a hair tie off her wrist to secure it in a messy ponytail, then slumped back into the chair, her frame swimming in an oversized sweater. She was usually so well turned out that it was a shock to see her like that but even in the state she was in, I couldn’t help but notice that she still looked pretty. She glanced up. Catching me staring, she shook her head. ‘It’s Mike.’ Her voice trembled while I focused intently, ready to catch the pieces she was about to splinter into. ‘I caught him cheating on me!’ Her floodgates opened as I gasped and clasped my hand to my mouth for effect. I furrowed my brows. ‘What? Are you sure?’ I asked, trying my best to appear shocked. She nodded. ‘That’s why I left the other night at the hotel. I saw them at the bar and I didn’t know what to do. I just ran off and caught a bus home. I’m so sorry for leaving you there, Charlotte.’ She wrapped her arms around herself as I felt a pang in my chest. I wasn’t sure if the root cause was guilt or profound sadness, but I felt a sense of responsibility to Megan to make sure she got through it. Without speaking, I walked over to her and wrapped her in a hug, not caring that her tears soaked through my T-shirt, dampening my shoulder. ‘Oh, Megan, don’t worry about me. I just can’t believe it. I don’t know what to say.’ I patted her back. She sniffled. ‘There’s nothing to say – he’s a bastard and that’s it. I can’t believe I was going to marry him.’ Her face was haunting, and my stomach churned seeing her in that state. A small niggling voice in the back of my head was questioning whether I should have stayed out of it in the first place. The affair could have fizzled out and they could have had a long and happy marriage had I not interfered. ‘I’m just glad I found out now and not a few years down the line when . . . well, if we’d have started a family, it would’ve been even worse.’ My body sagged slightly with relief. She was right there – I couldn’t imagine having children with someone who had cheated on me. I rubbed her back. ‘Definitely.’ Once she’d sipped her tea, she calmed enough to be able to talk. ‘I’m so sorry for landing on your doorstep in this state unannounced. It’s just, well, my close friends and family never liked Mike, and a bunch of I told you so’s weren’t what I needed today.’ I smiled to reassure her that it was okay. To be honest, I might have turned to her if, God forbid, I ever found myself in that situation. My only other choice would be Kate and she isn’t usually overgenerous with her sympathy. ‘All my friends who do like Mike are his friends too, and I don’t want them involved in taking sides. Yet.’ ‘I understand. Stay as long as you need. Has Mike left?’ I asked cautiously. She nodded. ‘Yes, he’s apparently gone to a hotel. He said the whole thing was a mistake and I was the one he wanted.’ She let out a humourless laugh and allowed her shoulders to flop. ‘But he could be staying with her for all I know. Do you know the worst part of all of this? I know who she is. She comes to my Pilates class and we’ve chatted a few times. Can you believe that? She’s younger, prettier, it’s such a clich?.’ She shook her head in disgust. I sat on the stool next to her and asked her softly what she was planning to do. ‘I don’t know. We had plans, and it’s like my whole future has been shattered.’ Her voice cracked as she spoke. ‘We were going to start a family and he’s thrown that away for some waitress with incredible core strength and flexibility.’ She shook her head. ‘One thing I know for sure is that I won’t be taking him back – he’s not the type of man who’d make a good father.’ She lifted her head and her watery eyes met mine. ‘You’re so lucky to have a partner like James. Someone who respects you and shares your life goals. Hang on to him.’ She was right: I was lucky to have a man like James, and it made me feel her pain all the more. I couldn’t imagine him ever doing anything like that – he didn’t have the time for starters but he loved me. She left a short while after, saying she needed to be at home to sort out her next move, and I felt satisfied she’d be okay after letting out some emotion. Once she’d gone, I started to think about my relationship with James and what Megan had said about him being a great man and one to hang on to. I didn’t expect Megan would be coming back for my training session so decided to make an effort, and since Kate’s comments about my underwear the other day had been playing on my mind, I got in the car and drove to the Trafford Centre, heading straight for Selfridges when I arrived. When I reached the Agent Provocateur concession, I froze, bewildered for a moment. It was a brand that people always talked about but none of the garments on display seemed to make much sense. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. ‘Can I help you?’ the immaculate assistant asked as I turned to leave but my words were stuck. I could’ve just ordered online, I scolded myself. It was unlike me to lack composure, and I hated myself for coming over all feeble and pathetic. In an attempt to appear more confident, I quickly scanned the rail next to me and picked up a small black playsuit that looked sultry yet classy. ‘I was just after one of these.’ ‘Ahh, the Gloria basque. It’s a popular item.’ She smiled, taking it from me. She looked at the tag then looked me over. ‘I don’t think this is your size. ‘What bust size are you?’ ‘Er . . . 34C,’ I replied. She nodded and said she’d be back in a moment. I relaxed a little as I waited and started to browse, idly flicking through the delicate fabrics. The assistant soon returned with my garment. ‘We had one in stock,’ she said, ‘and I’ve brought out the matching knickers and some stockings to complete the outfit. Would you like to try them on?’ I shook my head. ‘No, they’ll be fine, thank you. Where can I pay?’ ‘Please, follow me.’ Thankfully it was an unusually quiet day but that didn’t stop my eyes darting about frantically as I followed her to the counter, but before I knew it, she’d carefully wrapped the items and placed them in a bright yellow bag. Just as I was tapping my four-digit PIN into the card machine a familiar voice caught my attention and I spun around to see the back of a woman called Ginny who was part of the golf club clique. ‘Emmy, hi,’ she wailed into her phone. ‘Yes, of course I am . . . No idea, I’m out shopping for something now . . . seven I thought . . . yes she’ll be there – Lauren was inviting all the WAGs.’ She chuckled as if she’d made a joke. The assistant handed me my bag just as I caught the tail end of the conversation: ‘See you tonight.’ I scurried off before she saw me. Once I was safely back in my car, I couldn’t help myself, I had to check my phone for an invitation to whatever the gathering was. I knew before I looked that I wouldn’t be invited, not after the way Emmy had blanked me. I didn’t really care anyway but that didn’t stop my curiosity. Pulling my phone out to see the blank screen only confirmed my suspicions. I let out an even sigh. It looked like I was definitely out of the group. I don’t know what Lauren had told them all and I didn’t care. Strangely, I was quite relieved. At around 6.30 p.m. I took a shower and let my hair dry naturally wavy. I applied some natural-looking make-up with toned-down smoky eyes and a red lip-stain before slipping into my spoils of the day. I puffed my hair up at the roots, using a bit of hairspray to keep the volume, and put on my Valentino studded sandals before looking in the mirror. The flattering lines of the basque pulled in my waist, and there was enough bust support to give an ample-looking cleavage. My bigger than usual hair made my body look smaller, and the high-heeled sandals my legs longer. I didn’t mind admitting it – I still had it. My black satin robe lay on the bed so I put it on and tied the waist before going down to the kitchen, where I poured two glasses of Argentinian Malbec – James’s favourite. Then I sat and waited. Seven came and went, and by seven-forty I’d almost finished my second large glass when I heard the door open and a waft of aftershave hit me. On standing, I felt tipsier than I’d realised I was and had to hang on to the bar stool and take a minute. I giggled. My cheeks had a fuzzy warmth, and any inhibitions I’d had in the shop earlier had been destroyed by the alcohol. I loosened the belt of my robe and turned around, letting it fall to the floor in front of him. James’s face was a picture of surprise and bemusement. His lips parted like he was about to speak, but the words didn’t come. Seeing him, a powerful lawyer, lost for words gave me all the more confidence as I sashayed towards him, kissing him slowly when I got there. He returned my kiss, slowly at first and then quicker as he traced a finger up my arm and right down my back to underneath the cheek of my bottom. ‘You look amazing,’ he whispered close to my ear, sending a tingle down my spine, making me want him all the more. Then he sighed. ‘I’m sorry, I have a meeting with the judge tomorrow to present my case. I’ll be working on it all night.’ He let out a groan and pulled me in close, smelling my hair when he did. Tears pricked my eyes as I buried my face in his shoulder, and I fought hard to hold them back when I pulled away. Unable to speak, I handed him his wine and tried to smile. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again softly and planted a kiss on my forehead. When he’d left the room, I allowed a tear to roll down my cheek. The mixture of humiliation and frustration was worth that at least. I drank the rest of my wine and tried to pull myself together. It wasn’t James’s fault, or mine – it was circumstantial and badly timed. I went upstairs and slipped into something that really was more comfortable – my PJs – and called Kate. ‘I tried your underwear idea,’ I said as soon as she answered. She didn’t need any time to pause and process. ‘And?’ ‘Well, it was badly timed. James doesn’t need me to do things like that. We understand each other. I wish I hadn’t listened to you.’ ‘So, he was too busy? Again? What did you wear?’ ‘A black Agent Provocateur thing with suspenders – the works. I looked pretty good, even if I do say so myself, but it didn’t work.’ I emphasised the last part. ‘I’ve never heard of Agent Provocateur underwear that doesn’t work. Are you sure you had it on right?’ I heard her sip what I assumed to be wine. ‘Well, I thought it looked okay.’ I’d not actually considered whether or not it had been on right. I was usually more of a Playtex woman – the more modern styles at least, not the frumpy old-dear ones. I just wanted something sturdy and no-nonsense that looked okay and I didn’t have to worry about. ‘That husband of yours needs to realise what he’s missing.’ I sighed before moving the conversation on. ‘My trainer, Megan, finally caught her fianc? with that mistress of his.’ ‘Oh, the poor woman. How did that play out?’ Kate said, her interest clearly piqued. ‘She’s understandably devastated so I’ve offered my support.’ ‘Does she have her revenge plan in order?’ ‘I don’t think revenge is what she’s going for. She’s upset, humiliated, and her life is in tatters.’ ‘Well, I wouldn’t let him get away with it.’ I heard Kate take another sip of wine. ‘I know you wouldn’t.’ I laughed. ‘Why don’t you see if she wants to come out with us for a drink next week? Thursday perhaps? That gives her over a week to get to grips with things. There’s a new champagne bar I’m dying to try and it’ll do her good to get out. Plus it would do me good to have a girls’ night and I need to see you dressed up in something glam because that mental image you left me with last week, of all the beige, is truly awful, and as a result, our friendship is currently on the line.’ I smiled. Kate was Kate. ‘I do have a slinky red dress I’ve been dying to wear . . .’ ‘Oh thank God!’ ‘I’ll drop Megan a text and see if she’s up to it.’ ‘Great, I’ll see you Thursday.’ She blew a kiss down the phone and hung up. *** Megan had reluctantly agreed to come out. There was a chance she felt obliged since I was technically her boss, but I didn’t feel too guilty since it was for her own good. We met earlier in a bar in Wilmslow as I thought pre-Kate drinks were probably wise. On Megan’s arrival, her dowdy appearance shocked me a little, but I hid my reaction, for fear of upsetting her. She had on a lilac dress that fit poorly and washed her out. She’d attempted some make-up, but it was a half-hearted attempt at best. Her usual natural beauty wasn’t shining through, and she looked frumpy. I was sure it was a reflection of how she was feeling and continued to say nothing, but she brought it up. ‘I look a mess, don’t I?’ she said as we sipped a glass of wine. ‘Not at all. A bit tired, perhaps – have you slept?’ I wasn’t going to agree aloud. She shook her head. ‘No really, not since . . . before.’ I gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘Will your friend mind a miserable face like mine putting a dampener on her night?’ ‘Not at all. Kate is quite a character if you remember. She’ll maybe even take your mind off things for a few hours.’ Deep down, I hoped Kate would go easy on Megan. Once we’d finished our wine, we took a cab to the champagne bar in Alderley Edge where Kate was already waiting. In deep contrast to Megan, she looked amazing in a gold skimpy dress, which set off her tumbling ebony waves and tanned skin perfectly. She was seated in a plush booth with white leather padded seats and a dark glossy table. It was lucky she’d found a table since the place was packed to the rafters, but knowing Kate, there would have been some eyelash-batting involved at the very least. She stood up to greet us as we walked over. ‘Ladies, it’s lovely to see you both.’ She air-kissed us before sitting back down and beckoning a waiter over. I introduced Kate and Megan since they’d only met briefly, and then sat down. ‘Well, don’t you look fabulous tonight?’ Kate said, casting her eye over me. ‘Now don’t let me see you in that jumble of beige and pearls again – or at least not for another forty years.’ She flapped her hands in my general direction before catching sight of Megan, who was looking around the room and adjusting her dress around the chest. Before Megan had time to see the expression of horror creep across Kate’s face, I pursed my lips and shook my head at her, making sure she saw me. Kate waved a hand at me flippantly just before Megan turned back around to the table. All the arm-waving was starting to make me dizzy. ‘So, Megan, Charlotte told me all about your fianc?. I’m truly sorry. I do understand how hard it is.’ She leant across the table and patted Megan’s hand. To be fair to Kate, she almost did know, as her first husband had left her for another woman – but Kate wasn’t the type to sit around feeling sorry for herself, and I’d always felt the whole situation had been no more than a mild inconvenience to her. ‘Thank you,’ Megan replied quietly before returning to uncomfortable room-gazing. ‘Have you plotted your revenge yet?’ Kate drove her bulldozer right at Megan. I glared at her, and she shrugged as Megan turned back to us and shook her head. ‘No?’ Kate didn’t attempt to conceal her horror. ‘But it’s part of the moving-on process.’ Kate had gone in for the kill with her ex, making sure she squeezed as much money out of him as possible in the divorce settlement. In fairness, she had put her life on hold to be the ultimate ‘trophy wife’ for the seven years they’d spent together. Kate was on track to be some hotshot marketing person when she met Mr Money Bags and it was him who didn’t want a working wife – it wasn’t right for his image. I tried to soften the conversation as the waiter deposited our drinks on the table. ‘Kate, it’s just been a few days. Megan is still coming to terms with it all.’ ‘It’s okay, Charlotte. I have already thought about it. Do I scratch his car, slash his tyres, or publicly humiliate him somehow?’ She sipped her champagne, and Kate cut in, misreading her defeatist tone. ‘Well, it’s a start, but I think we can do better than any of those things.’ Kate tapped her fingers on the table, pondering. Megan forced a smile. ‘I was just going to say that as I imagined doing those things, I couldn’t imagine feeling any better about myself or the situation. I’d probably feel petty and juvenile. I think I just want to focus on me for now.’ For a brief moment, Kate was silenced. ‘Well, I think that sounds sensible.’ I raised my glass. ‘I think the best way to hurt him is to move on and try to rebuild my own happiness,’ Megan continued, and I nodded in agreement. ‘He’s already begged me to take him back. He still wants to go ahead with the wedding.’ ‘The only thing he should be in church for is his own funeral,’ Kate said, scoffing. ‘We could work on that though.’ She winked. ‘I think murder is frowned upon.’ I shot Kate a look – not everyone got her dark sense of humour. ‘You’re right, though. If he thinks you’re moving on, it will really get to him.’ I took a sip of fizz, realising that despite the awful circumstance that brought us together, I was actually having a lovely evening with two people I really liked. ‘Maybe we could get you a hunky male escort to go tile shopping with,’ Kate said wickedly. ‘I’m not sure my finances would stretch to that – my bills are about to double.’ Megan glanced down at the table before looking back up. ‘Besides, I think Mike would see through it and I’d just look pathetic – our bathroom and kitchen are new.’ ‘We could start with something simple to cheer you up, like a shopping trip or a makeover. My treat,’ Kate announced. I shot her a look, willing her to avoid mentioning Megan’s appearance. She understood my glare – and ignored it anyway. ‘We can revamp this dowdy look.’ She waved her hands in the general direction of Megan’s dress. ‘And show him what he’s missing.’ We? I thought to myself. It appeared as though Kate had found us a new hobby. Megan glanced at us both sheepishly. ‘I couldn’t possibly take advantage of your generosity, Kate, but I wouldn’t mind a shopping trip to take my mind off things. A bit of an image overhaul and some style advice might be nice. You seem like you have plenty.’ I put an arm around her in support. She was coping with Kate so well. I love Kate to bits, but she can be a bit much if you don’t know how to handle her. ‘So that’s a yes to shopping then?’ Kate pressed. Megan nodded. ‘To shopping!’ Kate raised a glass and we all clinked. ‘How about we meet up next Saturday, head into town, have a spot of lunch, and then grab a few drinks after?’ I suggested, glad of having something to look forward to. ‘I’d like that.’ For the first time that evening, Megan gave a genuine smile. *** We met outside Harvey Nichols at Kate’s request. I’d tried to suggest the Manchester Arndale, but Kate had pulled a face. While we waited for Megan to turn up, I warned her, ‘Megan hasn’t much money. You know she’s my personal trainer and Mike is a tile warehouse manager, so her bank account balance won’t come with six zeros at the end like yours did after your divorce settlement.’ ‘I said it would be my treat.’ Kate shrugged. Sometimes she was impossible. ‘Megan is proud. She won’t appreciate charity.’ I lowered my voice as Megan approached, walking heavily towards us. My unfounded motherly instinct kicked in, prompting me to dash over and give her a hug. ‘How are you?’ I asked, genuinely concerned. She sighed. ‘I’m coping.’ ‘Let’s put a smile on your face then.’ Kate linked her arm through Megan’s and marched her through the doors to Harvey Nicks. The smell of luxurious perfume hit us as we walked in. I don’t know if it worked for Megan, but it gave me a sense of instant calm, putting me in the right frame of mind to spend some money. ‘What perfume do you wear?’ Kate asked Megan as we browsed the concessions. ‘I’ve worn the same perfume for years – Armani Code.’ ‘That’s the first thing that needs to go. New you, new fragrance, otherwise you’ll be reminded of your old life with every squirt.’ She was already picking up bottles and sniffing them. ‘Now, if Mike still has clothes and things at your house, I suggest you use whatever you have left in the bottle to spray everything he owns. When he takes it all away he’ll have a lasting reminder of you.’ She ignored Megan’s confused expression and focused on stalking the counters, squinting at the beautiful little bottles and randomly casting her eye over Megan before coming to a halt at the Viktor & Rolf display. ‘You look like a Flowerbomb girl,’ she said, before engulfing Megan in a cloud of the candy-sweet perfume. Megan wafted her hand in front of her face, presumably trying to find some oxygen amidst the haze. ‘It’s a lovely smell,’ she said eventually before picking up the shiny, plump bottle. Then she gasped. ‘This bottle is a hundred quid!’ She placed it back on the shelf carefully, presumably embarrassed and petrified of breaking it. ‘Can I help you?’ a smartly dressed assistant asked as Kate continued her perusal, oblivious. I could sense Megan’s discomfort. ‘Did you like the perfume?’ I asked. Buying her a little gift would be the least I could do, and she had such a sweet innocence about her, I had to agree with Kate that Flowerbomb was a good choice. ‘I did, but I can’t spend that much money on it.’ ‘We’ll take a large bottle of the eau de parfum, please,’ I said to the assistant, who nodded once and took one from the drawer. Megan looked at me, bewildered. ‘Please, let me treat you – as a thank you for all your personal training and for going above and beyond the call of duty, coming on a Sunday and accompanying me to the equipment shop.’ She took a deep breath but didn’t reply so I hoped she’d let me off the hook. The assistant handed the carrier bag over to Megan and she turned to me before we walked over to Kate. ‘Thank you, but you really shouldn’t have. I would have bought it myself.’ I gave her a small smile. ‘We’re here to cheer you up.’ As we approached Kate, she was chatting to an immaculate brunette with her hair scraped back in a high ponytail. When Kate turned to face us, she had a huge grin on her face. ‘Girls, this is Lucinda and she’s going to give us all a makeover!’ I eyed Megan warily. The night out we’d had was probably the first time I’d seen her wear any make-up before; she was actually one of the few people I’d met who looked better without it. ‘I’ve never had a makeover before, unless you count my engagement party when Mike’s cousin doused me in her entire MAC collection and got offended when I washed it off.’ Her facial muscles dropped slightly at the memory, and I could tell she was trying hard to remain composed. ‘We can do something else?’ I said, rubbing her arm but she shook her head. ‘No, if I’m moving on, then I have to try new things. Let’s do this.’ She forced a smile before pausing. ‘Wait, how much is it?’ ‘It’s a promo – it’s free, dear,’ Kate said with a smile. ‘Brilliant.’ Megan beamed and made a beeline to Lucinda who had walked over to the concierge desk. I pulled Kate aside, making sure Megan was out of earshot. ‘This isn’t free – it’s at least a hundred quid each.’ ‘And the rest, but I’ve already paid, and didn’t your mother ever tell you that it’s nice to be nice, Charlotte?’ Kate grinned. After an hour of Lucinda picking out clothes for us, we each had an impressive pile of designer gear, which we tried on in between taking sips of champagne. ‘These are just to try on again after hair and make-up, right?’ Megan said, holding up a gorgeous Balmain leather jacket while eyeing the hefty price tag. Her eyes bulged. ‘Yes, of course,’ Kate said with a laugh that I knew to be her fake one. ‘Now come on, it’s makeover time.’ After our bouncy blow-dries and glamorous make-up, our own clothes didn’t do us justice. ‘Girls, we have to have at least one of those dresses!’ Kate said, dragging us back to the concierge desk. Megan shot me a worried look so I mouthed the words ‘don’t worry.’ In the changing area, Lucinda had three garments each for us – the favourites we’d selected earlier on. ‘Oh, ladies, you all look fabulous,’ she gushed, taking in our hair and make-up. ‘I’ll go and get some drinks and nibbles; you ladies try everything on and we’ll have a look at you when you’re ready.’ Megan came out first, wearing a navy, lace-trim, satin slip dress. It was simple but really worked for her; her shiny honey-brown hair and similarly coloured skin set the dress off perfectly, and the bit of contouring and understated smoky eyes had worked wonders for her. I noticed she couldn’t help glancing at herself in the mirror. I smiled, pleased she was happy. ‘Much better,’ Kate said, looking her over. ‘You look beautiful, as you always do,’ I said, ignoring Kate’s blunt remark. She smiled nervously. ‘I do love my hair and make-up. And this dress is amazing.’ Lucinda returned with three champagne flutes. ‘Lucinda, we’ll take that dress,’ Kate said, pointing at Megan. Megan’s eyes filled with horror and she shook her head. ‘I . . . I can’t,’ she whispered, so just Kate and I could hear. Kate, the champers obviously getting to her, waved off the remark. ‘It’s on me. You just have to have it. Today, think of me as your fairy sugar-mamma.’ I was surprised she didn’t hic at the end. I started to feel a little embarrassed on both Kate’s and Megan’s behalves and slipped into my cubicle to try on the teal Missoni maxi-dress I’d loved earlier while Megan continued to protest about Kate’s gift. With my hair and make-up done, it looked even better and it wouldn’t be long before the Emsworth, Haiden & Haiden summer ball. I popped my head around the curtain. ‘And this please, Lucinda.’ Next, it was Kate’s turn. She stepped out in a white, form-fitting Versace dress that ended just above her knee. It was plain apart from two gold rings – one on the shoulder and one on the waist. Her tanned skin and dark hair contrasted perfectly. ‘I think you have yourself a winner there,’ I said, but I needn’t have. ‘I know.’ She smiled while smoothing the dress down over her curves and admiring herself in the mirror. ‘You look like George Clooney’s wife,’ Megan exclaimed. Kate smiled. ‘Shame he didn’t meet me first.’ With that, she turned back and went into her cubicle. While we were waiting for Kate, I started to send James a text message, just to see what time he’d be back from the office. Yes, he was at the office on a Saturday. When I looked up, I saw Megan trying on the Balmain leather jacket and turning from left to right as she admired it through the mirror. ‘You love it, don’t you?’ I asked. ‘I do. I’ve never had anything so expensive on my body before. Not even my engagement ring is worth this much.’ She shook her head. ‘The leather is so soft.’ ‘Well, if there was ever a time to treat yourself, now would be it,’ I said. ‘You have to have it. It’s like it was made for you!’ Kate said, bursting out of the fitting room. ‘So, what are we having, ladies?’ Lucinda asked. ‘I’m taking these,’ Megan blurted out, holding up the dress and the jacket in one hand and a credit card in the other. I glanced at Kate. ‘Don’t worry, the account is in Mike’s name, and he’s recently cleared the balance,’ Megan said, grinning. ‘I’m beginning to like you.’ Kate smiled, placing an arm on Megan’s shoulder. An hour or so later, we were sipping Singapore Slings and dancing in one of the trendy bars that had popped up in Wilmslow. Megan was even seeming to enjoy herself, which meant I could relax a bit too. ‘All right, ladies?’ A doughy man in navy jeans and a white shirt invaded our dancing triangle. ‘Can I buy one of you gorgeous ladies a drink?’ I looked him over wondering if he’d be a good option for Megan to have a bit fun with. With his fleshy face and leering grin, he wasn’t. I was about to shoo him away when Kate piped up. ‘Rule number one, you don’t just barge into a group of women having fun. Rule number two, you pick one girl and politely flatter her; you don’t chance all three.’ She shook her head and turned her back to him. ‘I bet he has the gall to complain about being single too!’ I started to feel a bit sorry for him. ‘Ooh, we have a feisty one here.’ He looked amused. ‘Okay then – you, I’ll buy you a drink.’ He prodded a finger towards her ample bosom and smirked as he cast a lewd eye over her perfect figure – a gesture she would definitely not appreciate. Her nostrils flared. ‘How about you buy yourself a taxi home and a shirt that doesn’t gape around your swollen middle,’ Kate snapped, seemingly not taken with his charms. He pulled a face and sauntered off, making a beeline for the next group of women. ‘Well, if that’s what the fish in the sea are like these days, I think I’ll stay single for the rest of my life,’ Megan said allowing her features to sag in defeat. ‘It’s not just the fish in the sea that pose a problem.’ Kate nodded towards the group of girls that our lecherous laddie had just approached. ‘It’s the competition. Look at them – it’s like a Victoria’s Secret works do over there.’ She was right: women seemed to have come on leaps and bounds recently in make-up artistry, creating cheekbones, eyebrows, and a flawless finish that defied nature and made Photoshopped magazine pictures seem plausible. Of course, for this one night only, we looked pretty darn good too but the women she was talking about were something else. There was a certain air of ‘supermodel’ style about them. Today’s role models are a tough act to follow. Instagram and Snapchat ‘celebs’ promoting buff bodies and clean eating make for a tougher aspiration. I’d thought clean eating was washing your salad before chucking it in a bowl until Megan told me it was the latest fad diet. Admittedly, I’d then tried it – desperate to keep up. ‘You can’t tell how old anybody is any more,’ Megan said. ‘That’s because people have fillers and Botox and get their lips done,’ Kate chimed in. ‘You’re one to talk.’ If it was available, Kate had tried it – not that I was a stranger to the odd minor filler here and there. ‘Well, I’m forty; I’m talking about younger women. I mean, look how skinny they are – where do they keep their organs?’ She was gawping at the same waif-thin, seemingly ageless group at the bar that Megan had pointed out. ‘You’re forty-three! And haven’t seen a double-figured dress size in your life. You’re basically an older version of those girls but still you look as good.’ Kate was exasperating sometimes and I was beginning to wonder if she’d start quoting Snow White villains in her next breath. Megan had stood in a bemused silence throughout our exchange. ‘An eight, not a double zero. The only curves those girls aspire to would have to be made from silicone.’ I smirked. Kate was a handful but she wasn’t a bitch. ‘Oh my goodness, you’re jealous.’ ‘I’m not, I’m—’ ‘Don’t worry, Kate, you’re still the fairest in the land,’ I said in a mock-babying tone, earning myself a weary glance. ‘You could always join in Charlotte’s PT sessions with me,’ Megan said, looking over at me nervously. She was sweet. And brave. ‘Are you kidding?’ Kate scoffed. ‘This body hasn’t exercised since 1994! I dread to think what would happen if I lifted more than a glass of champers.’ We giggled but I knew there was something off. Changing the subject, I turned my attention to Megan. ‘Do you think you’d want to meet someone else? In time, I mean.’ I’d assumed she’d want to but hadn’t considered the possibility that Mike had put her off men for good. ‘I don’t know. I’m still processing what’s happened so it’s hard to think about it at the moment. I’d like to think I’ll meet someone who treats me right. I always liked the idea of being married.’ Kate snorted. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I shot her a glance. ‘Oh come on. Who likes being married?’ ‘James is a wonderful man,’ I said. I was surprised by what she’d asked. ‘That doesn’t answer the question.’ ‘Of course I like being married,’ I said for clarity. ‘And I didn’t get the chance, but I wanted to.’ Megan shrugged. ‘Are you saying you’re unhappy with Carl?’ I asked, feeling we were getting to the bottom of her issue. ‘I’m just saying, things can fizzle out a little.’ She drained her glass. ‘I’m going to the bar.’ She stalked off. ‘Well, that was odd,’ I said to Megan. ‘All marriages have those phases, I imagine,’ Megan said. Mine hadn’t, but I kept that to myself. ‘I suppose. So, doesn’t anyone in here take your fancy?’ I asked, changing the subject. She cast her eye around the room at the many carbon copies of intrusive-dancer-bloke from earlier. ‘Hmm, not really. I suppose I’m awaiting my very own Tom Hardy.’ ‘Tom Hardy? Really?’ I giggled. I think it was the wine as girly chat was never my forte. ‘Well, who would you be holding out for? If there was no James.’ It had been a long time since someone had caught my eye. I thought for a moment, flicking through a mental database of stereotypically handsome gentlemen who would seem acceptable: Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, and so on. I could only think of James – nobody else came close. ‘Paul Newman,’ I blurted out eventually before adding, ‘in his time.’ Megan pulled a face to say it was an acceptable answer just as Kate returned with three mojitos. ‘Sorry that took a while – the barman had all the gusto of a sedated sloth! Anyway, what was that about Paul Newman?’ she asked, handing out the drinks. Apparently she’d cooled off. ‘He’s Charlotte’s dream bloke,’ Megan answered on my behalf. Kate scrunched her nose. ‘Well, who would you pick then?’ I asked. ‘Well George C, obviously. Though there’s something about Jack Nicholson,’ she mused. ‘I get that,’ I said. ‘I’d go with Leonardo DiCaprio,’ Megan said. ‘He’s basically a younger version.’ She giggled. ‘Oh, dear girl, you’ll realise one day. The mature ones are the best ones,’ Kate said. ‘I’ve literally no idea what she’s on about,’ I whispered to Megan. I really didn’t – Carl was two years her junior. Her ex-husband, however, was a much older man. ‘Carl doesn’t notice me any more,’ Kate said suddenly. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, opting for a more sympathetic tone this time. ‘I don’t know. His face used to light up when he came in from work and he’d wrap me up in those big burly arms and kiss me like it had been an eternity since we’d last embraced . . .’ She smiled, wrapping her arms around herself. ‘You’ve read too many romance books! And those things don’t last for ever, Kate. Life happens and we have to get on with that too. Is this what your downer on marriage and younger men has been about?’ She could be so petulant at times. ‘Maybe. I don’t know. Carl just comes in from work, asks about dinner, then slobs out in front of the television. Henry used to twirl me around and whisk me off at the drop of a hat; he made me feel like I was a princess.’ ‘You and a string of other women,’ I countered. ‘Something has to be said about fidelity.’ ‘I know.’ She shrugged. ‘I just wish Carl was more like James – he’s so attentive.’ ‘James isn’t very attentive at the moment, though, is he? Work has possessed him,’ I said. ‘Maybe you should take a little of your own advice and get some saucy undies to spice things up a bit.’ I sipped my mojito to avoid looking smug. ‘All my undies are saucy!’ Kate retorted, causing Megan to splutter into her own mojito. *** The next morning, I awoke alone in bed feeling dehydrated and tired, both of which reminded me why I usually drank in moderation. Binge-drinking was so late Nineties it should be considered a retro activity, or shelved under ‘never again’. A glass of water sat on the bedside table; James must have fetched it for me before he went downstairs – he really is attentive. I drank the whole glass and checked the time. It was just approaching 10 a.m. The smell of sweet pastry roused me, and I trudged downstairs, snuggled up in my UGG dressing gown – the perfect attire for a chilly spring morning. James was in the kitchen, baking. ‘Mmm, those smell good,’ I said as I walked up, wrapping my arms around his neck. He picked his phone up off the counter and stuffed it into his pocket before turning to face me. At least he could push work aside for me sometimes. ‘I thought you might be in need of something stodgy after your night out.’ He kissed me on the forehead. ‘I don’t know why I do it. I blame Kate.’ I took a delicious bite of a hot pain au chocolat. ‘These are almost as good as mine!’ ‘Careful, my baking is already a rarity.’ ‘True.’ It seemed a while since we’d spoken like this, like we used to, so I thought I’d jump on the opportunity to suggest doing something nice together. ‘How about a walk today? We could go to that woodland path we’ve talked about.’ ‘I’m sorry, darling. I’m still swallowed up by this case. It won’t be for much longer now.’ I drew a deep breath to remind myself to keep calm. His work paid for our wonderful lifestyle after all, and the case would soon be over. Instead of giving a reply, I simply smiled and went to sit and eat in the orangery. Looking out over the garden always gave me a sense of calm. After breakfast, I loaded up my laptop. Talking to Megan the night before had given me an idea. She’d mentioned wanting to meet someone when the time was right and I thought I could help that along a little by setting her up with an online dating profile. That way, when she was ready, I’d already have some options lined up. I scoured her Facebook page for a suitable photograph. There was dressed-up ball-ready Megan, sporty workwear Megan, Halloween Megan, old baby pic Megan . . . All that was missing was ginger Megan and we’d have had the full Spice Girls set. I opted for the ball picture then at the last minute changed it for the one of her in sportswear. It was a nice Sweaty Betty yoga set that I’d bought her for Christmas the previous year. She had a minimal amount of make-up on as usual and looked gorgeous, and her hair was tied back neatly. It suggested effortless beauty. The ‘Me & You’ website was very easy to use, and once Megan’s picture was loaded in, there were just some tick boxes and a few paragraphs to write. Her interests were pretty similar to mine on a general level so I ticked everything I would have. ? Sports ? Socialising ? Bars ? Walking ? Film ? Music ? Dining out The next section asked about personal preferences. I had no idea, but Mike wasn’t particularly attractive and she’d always seemed to like James so I just ticked anything that was relevant to him: ? Brown hair ? 6'0" or above ? Medium build ? Similar interests Next, I had to fill in a paragraph about ‘myself’, or in this case, Megan. For a moment, I considered how hard this would be to write about yourself and felt glad I’d never had to do my own profile. Internet dating was a new concept to me. When I’d met James, people used it to look up information and that was it really. There wasn’t any online dating. I waffled on about being a personal trainer and liking to stay in shape, which was really a huge euphemism for ‘hot body and active in the bedroom’ wasn’t it? Did men want anything more than that? I didn’t think so. The final thing to do was set the distance. I tapped at the keys, having no idea how far Megan would travel for love. Deciding local would be best I set it to within three miles. Once I was finished, I scanned the page over and clicked ‘save profile’. I was convinced that when Megan was ready to start dating men, there’d be a bank of interested parties to choose from. I closed my laptop, feeling pretty smug with myself. The walk-in wardrobe was thick with James’s aftershave. The unmistakable fresh scent of his Creed Aventus lingered heavily in the air. It was my favourite, though why he was wasting the expensive stuff on a trip to an empty office for a few hours was beyond me. Still, little else compared that delicious scent so I sort of understood. Part of my attraction to him was that he took pride in himself. My phone buzzed as I walked out of my wardrobe, finally dressed. Sorry I’ve not been around much lately. How about a date night? Love U, J x My heart leapt. It had been far too long. My fingers were tapping back before I’d even thought about a reply. I’d love to. What did you have in mind? X I hit send and my chest came over all fluttery while I planned what I’d wear. We could go out for dinner . . . or you could show me that sexy little number again ;) x A smile spread across my face. At least I didn’t have to worry about what to wear. Chapter Five (#ulink_effccfca-0461-583d-8186-2d1234179674) I awoke the next morning wrapped in a strong pair of arms with a smile on my face. The previous night had been a reminder of what our marriage had been like before James turned into a medium whose body was possessed by work. He kissed me lazily on the head and I relished in his warmth. ‘Morning,’ his voice croaked to life. ‘Morning yourself.’ I tilted my head to kiss him back. ‘I’ve missed you.’ ‘Me too.’ I smiled, snuggling back down into his arms. It had been too long. ‘We need to make more of an effort, you know – like have a date night, once a month – no ifs or buts?’ ‘Will you be wearing that little number you had on last night?’ He nuzzled my neck. ‘Probably not that exact one,’ I said, smirking at the memory of him ripping it off my body. It was nice to feel like Charlotte and James again. After James left for work, I started up my laptop. After my own love life had been reignited, I was eager to see if Megan had received any interest on the Me & You dating site. There were two new messages. A twinge of excitement poked at my chest as I opened the first one. Hi, loving your profile picture and smoking body and saw your local. Fancy getting to know each other over a few drinks at mine? Tom. I winced at the grammatical error but, unsure as to whether or not Megan would care, I took the time to look at the tiny thumbnail picture of him just in case. It was of a very impressive, tanned, muscular torso, and you could just see the top of his tight designer boxer shorts, which sat far too low. Was that supposed to be his unique selling point? Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/victoria-cooke/who-needs-men-anyway-a-perfect-feel-good-romantic-comedy-fi/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.