‘Hurrah! They’re under the sink,’ She grabs her bag from the top of the stairs and makes her way down to the door. ‘You’re more than welcome to borrow Margo.’
Is she kidding me? I’d have to complete a ten month leg muscle workout programme to build up the strength to use that clutch. I’ve got cramp just thinking about it. ‘I’m not going anywhere. Drive safe.’
By six o’clock, I’m sat in the middle of my room surrounded by bin bags. I’ve been brutal. Clearly, my last sort out was half-hearted because I’ve accumulated four sacks of clothes for the charity shop. If I’ve not worn it in the last six months, then it’s in one of those four bags. All of my remaining clothes have been washed and ironed, and are now folded neatly in an organised manner. I feel cleansed. I empty my waste paper basket into a rubbish sack. The calla lily that Jesse gave me tumbles out. It’s all shriveled and discoloured. I should have put it in some water, but back then, I didn’t plan on seeing the man again. I wanted to forget about him. Impossible. I smile to myself, tying the sack and carting it out to the bin.
I collapse on the sofa with a bottle of wine and a family size bar of chocolate to catch up on Saturday night, crappy television.
A few hours later, I’m staring at the last cube of chocolate and feeling slightly nauseous. I really need to start buying a regular size. I pop it in and chomp lazily as I flick the channels repeatedly.
The sound of my phone drags me from the sofa, my heart giving a little skip. It could be Jesse. I groan. It’s Matt. What does he want? It’s Saturday night and he’s newly single to do what he pleases. Not that our relationship ever stopped him from doing exactly that anyway.
‘Hello?’
‘Ava, you okay?’ He doesn’t sound drunk.
‘Yeah, are you?’ What does he want?
‘Good, how did yesterday go?’
My wine glass halts on its way to my lips. Why do I feel interrogated all of a sudden? It’s just a friendly question. What should I say? I had sex in the penthouse with the new owner; I went home with him; he fucked me up the arse; he’s older, I’m not sure how much older, but an absolute Adonis; I can’t walk properly today…
‘Really good, thanks.’ I say instead.
‘Great,’ he chirps, but then there’s a long pause.
Why all the sudden interest in my career? When I told him that I’d won the Lusso contract, he’d asked me what I’d done for dinner. I hear him draw breath.
‘Ava, do you fancy lunch on Tuesday?’ He doesn’t sound right. He sounds all nervous and timid, not the usual conceited, sure Matt that I know. What’s he doing in on a Saturday night?
‘Sure, is everything okay?’
‘Not really. I’ll speak to you Tuesday, yeah?’
‘Okay.’ I reply hesitantly. I hope nothing dreadful has happened.
‘I’ll meet you at Baroque at one o’clock. Is that okay?’
‘Of course, I’ll see you then.’ I hang up. He really doesn’t sound good. He might be an arrogant, cheating rat, and I might be well shot of him, but you don’t just stop caring.
I flick the television off and take myself to my newly cleansed bedroom, retreating hastily under my duvet. I’m completely whacked. Being tucked up in bed at this time on a Saturday night is new territory for me these days, but after my recent exertions, the sleep is most welcome.
***
I come awake to music and stretch in my bed. It’s a lovely satisfied stretch that tells me I’ve had a very restful sleep. I sit up. What is that? It takes a while for my brain to kick into awake mode, but when it’s does, I can still hear music. I brush my hair from my face. The music stops.
Huh? Is Kate back already? I glance at my clock. Nine o’clock? Christ, I’ve not slept this late in years. I flop back on my pillow with a smile. It would seem that Jesse Ward is good for my sex life and my sleep.