The Other Woman(46)

I’d thought I was going to marry Tom. We were practically living together, yet that night, he’d called me from work to say he wasn’t feeling well and that he thought it better, and kinder, if he spent the night at his place.

‘Believe you me,’ he’d said, sniffing. ‘You don’t want to get this.’

I remember thinking how considerate he was being.

‘But it’s probably just a common cold,’ I’d implored, in the hope of changing his mind. ‘It may feel like full-blown man-flu to you, but if I, as a woman, was to get it, I’m sure it’d amount to no more than a little snuffle.’

‘Oh, piss off.’ He’d laughed. ‘Here’s me trying to be thoughtful, and all you can do is take the mickey.’

‘If you come over to mine, I’ll rub some Vicks on your chest.’

‘Tempting, but I really don’t think it’s fair on you. Honestly, I feel like shit,’ he’d said.

Not quite shit enough, it seemed, to stop my best friend writhing up and down on him when I paid a visit with some medication and a batch of Sainsbury’s oven-ready lasagne. All I thought of as I let myself in was whether or not I could pass the pasta off as my own. Surely that would make me a much more considerate girlfriend, I’d thought to myself, quietly laying my keys on the window ledge, and tiptoeing up the stairs.

I think I heard the noises as I was about halfway up, but my naive brain translated his groans into coughs, and her panting into a shortness of breath. Maybe I ought to get him a glass of water, I remember thinking, as I hesitated on the top step, still unsuspecting. I sometimes pretend that I had gone back downstairs to get him a drink, and, by doing so, had alerted them to my presence. I imagine her being stuffed unceremoniously into his wardrobe whilst we embarked on a caper of Carry On proportions.

Maybe, then, I’d be blissfully ignorant to this day, about to go off with my fellow hens to celebrate my final moments of freedom before our impending marriage. Charlotte would have been my chief bridesmaid, and I’d be none the wiser.

She was still clinging onto me when Pippa yanked my hand and pulled me away.

‘Come on, we need to check in,’ she said.

I’d lost the ability to function, and stood there, dumbstruck.

‘Just keep smiling,’ Seb said. ‘I have no idea what the hell is going on.’

‘But her . . .’ I faltered. ‘How did this even happen?’

‘I really haven’t got a clue,’ he said. ‘It’s always been nine of us. Pippa says she just appeared out of nowhere.’

‘What do you want to do?’ she asked, ushering me towards the waiting clerk at the Monarch desk, whose thin lips were pressed together in impatience. I was vaguely aware of the Faro sign behind her, but nothing was sinking in. All I knew was that I wanted to get as far away from there as possible. Alone.

‘What are my choices?’ I asked sarcastically. ‘Right now, I can’t see that I have any.’

‘We can tell her to leave,’ said Pippa. ‘I don’t have a problem doing that, if that’s what you want.’

I couldn’t think straight.

I wanted to cry, but I’d be darned if I was going to give Charlotte the satisfaction. Her face was a smiling blur over Pippa’s shoulder.

‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ I said.

‘So, what do you want to do, Em?’

I looked around at all the excited faces, knowing that, for Trudy, Nina and Sam, my old workmates, this would be the only break they had all year. They’d paid good money for their flights and accommodation. It wasn’t fair of me to ruin it before we’d even got off the ground.

‘Do you want me to tell her?’ asked Pippa.

I stopped my brain from racing ahead and tried to remember who I’d told about Charlotte and Tom. Right now, it felt like they all knew, and were laughing about it whenever my back was turned. But once I thought about it rationally, I realized that it was only Mum, Seb and Pippa. I had felt ashamed and embarrassed at the time – I hadn’t shouted it from the rooftops. If I caused a scene now, everyone would find out, and it’d be the talk of not only the hen weekend, but the wedding as well.

‘Let her come,’ I said sharply. ‘I’ll deal with it.’

I’d spent so long imagining this moment, wondering what it would be like to bump into her again. What would happen? Would I launch myself at her and want to tear her hair out? Or would I ignore her? It turns out, it was neither. I just felt numb.

‘Where are we even going?’ I asked glumly.

‘Portugal!’ said Pippa, over-enthusiastically.

I could tell she was trying to buoy me, to keep my spirits up, but my mood was going to be hard to lift.

I tried to concentrate on what people were saying to me as we sat in the departure lounge, a couple of bottles of prosecco already drained. They were all so happy, so keen to make it special, even competing, it seemed, for my attention. I turned my head this way and that, smiling, offering over-exaggerated gestures. But it all felt false, as if I was trying too hard, for fear of the elephant in the room making itself known.

Carrier bags clinked as everybody went to get up as our flight was announced, our duty-free purchases bumping into each other. ‘I think we’ve got enough booze here to sink a battleship,’ said Pippa. ‘Cliff Richard needn’t be worried about us drinking his vineyard dry.’