Page 57 of The Key to My Heart

London is a moody, humid mess of summer rain today, and the train station’s floors are shiny with wet footprints. I didn’t come here, to Goode’s last week – the first week I’ve missed I think, since I started coming here to the station to play – but, of course, I stopped by to check the piano. I’d hoped the Coldplay song would be the start of it again, practically bounded up to the stool, like an excited Labrador, expected more music, but there was nothing, and a rock of disappointment had settled in the pit of my stomach.

But my days have been busy in the last week – too busy really, to feel too deflated, to think too much about it. After the food festival on Tuesday and the totally disastrous stand-off with Edie, Joe and I met again onThursday. Record shopping, in Camden (Joe’s idea), which turned into lunch, that may have even turned into dinner at his (a barbecue his housemate and his new girlfriend was hosting, much to Joe’s horror) if I hadn’t had to get back to feed Toast. And there was a part of me that was glad to have the cat as an excuse. I sort of wanted to be alone, to go home when I did, to process it. Joe. Joe exploding into my life. And record shopping. Until Thursday, I hadn’t stepped foot into a record shop since Russ. It was nice. Different of course, with Joe, without that … zing, without thatfeelingI’d have when I flicked through vinyls with Russ, but the smell was the same, and comforting. Like old, sun-bleached paper and furniture polish. Russ would even sniff the records. The older, the tattier, the better, for him.

‘I came in an hour ago,’ I tell Shauna. ‘I’ve been waiting to see you. Jason said you had a thing?’

Shauna takes a seat at the table, opposite me, chair legs scraping on the damp tiles. ‘He said I had a what?’

‘An … appointment I think he said?’

‘Oh.’ Shauna nods, almost defeatedly. ‘Yes, I did. I told him not to tell anyone, though, the little swine.’

‘Is everything okay?’ I’ve wanted to ask Shauna about Don, and everything Tom told me – about Angela and the woman she saw with him – but Tom asked me gently not to, so I keep waiting for Shauna to tell me herself. But she hasn’t. Even when she called on Thursday, to tell me she too had checked for music. She just does what Shauna always does. She gives the same, cheery, strong version of herself she always does, like she’s aone-woman show and believes her audience deserves perfection and consistency at all times, despite how she might be feeling.

‘I’m okay, love.’ Shauna gives a tight shrug. She smells like freshly baked pastry and jasmine. ‘Fine, as normal. But I’ve been having this chest pain …’

‘Oh, shit, are you okay?’

‘Ah, fine, fine.’ Shauna waves me away, the bangles on her wrist jangling. ‘I had the full works, the doctor was a dream, but he says it’sstress.’ Shauna lowers her voice as she says ‘stress’ like she’s embarrassed, like it’s a dirty word, like it’s heresy just to say it out loud in public. And, of course, I know why. Don. I bet it’s bloody Don. How could you possibly not be stressed when the man you married, the man you had five children with, has had countless affairs?

I keep thinking about this. It was bad enough when Edie told me about her and Russ. I questioned everything. My self-esteem, shrivelled, like an old forgotten lime in a fruit bowl. And that wasn’t even an affair, and Russ wasn’t evenhere.So, what do you do, if you’re Shauna? What do you do with your self-esteem then? What do you do with your mind that wants so desperately to look for signs – the tiny things that could be evidence, but could also be absolutely nothing? Because everything is suspicious, issomething, under the right gaze.

‘Is it work,’ I ask Shauna, ‘or … other stuff?’

‘Well, I wonder if it could be my anniversary. Did Tom tell you?’

‘No, I don’t think he did,’ I lie. ‘What’s happening on your anniversary?’

Shauna smiles then, a proper smile, that makes her eyes screw up and cheeks glow, like shiny apples. ‘Don and I. It’s our thirtieth wedding anniversary soon and we’re organising a party. And, of course, you’re invited. It’s in six weeks. I’ll send you the email.’

‘Oh, wow. And make sure you do,’ I say, with as much faux surprise as I can muster. ‘That’s so exciting.’

‘You’re telling me!’ she replies. ‘I’ve never really had a party before. But it’s stressful. Oh my gosh, so stressful. We’ve found a venue. Someone Don knows. A client. A hotel they’ve got a contract with? They have a function room free – a what do you call it? Acancellation.So, he’s called in a favour. But all the organising, Natalie. Honestly. It’s keeping me up at night – hot sweats, bad dreams, the lot. Plus, Don’s so busy with work so much of it falls to me …’

‘Well, if you need a hand with anything—’

‘You have enough to do, my darling,’ Shauna smiles. Behind her, in the coffee shop’s doorway, Mr Affair emerges, putting a phone to his ear. He whisks off in the direction of the escalator. Shauna sees him, looks at me. ‘He’s an arse that man,’ she says. ‘The times that young girl cries over him …’

‘I wish she’d cut him off.’

Shauna nods, sadly. ‘Takes strength, I suppose,’ she says, and she cranes her neck, to see in the shop, to look for her. ‘Anyway. Don’t think you’re getting away with it, Natalie Fincher.’

‘With what?’ I laugh.

‘I need to know everything.Wherewere you and, might I ask, that pretty-faced lad with the notebook, both TuesdayandThursday?’

I laugh even more now – my cheeks immediately bursting into flames. God, am I really this transparent? I’m like a giddy child. ‘We’ve been … hanging out.’

‘Oh my God, I love it. Tell meall.’

‘Well, last week we went to a food festival all day, that was the Tuesday, and we didn’t say goodbye until like, ten at night.’

‘So lovely.’

‘And then we met up on Thursday, went shopping for records, which is something I used to do all the time with Russ, and … I don’t know.’

Shauna stares at me, her tired eyes coming to life; glittering. A sparkle. ‘You don’t know what?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say again, and we both laugh, a burst of warm giggles. ‘God, I don’t even know why I’m giggling and being weird. I amneverlike this. It’s embarrassing …’

---