Page 131 of The Honeymoon Affair

‘Sweetheart, let’s talk this through.’ Charles gives me a pleading look. ‘I understand it’s upsetting. I wouldn’t have had it happen for the world.’

‘I’m not talking anything through,’ I say as I order an Uber. ‘This has been the worst night of my life.’

‘You’ve had a sheltered life in that case,’ remarks Pamela.

‘Wouldn’t the night your fiancé broke off the engagement have been worse?’ asks Charles.

‘I’d forgotten about your previous fiancé,’ says Pamela. ‘You’re in the same boat as Charles, aren’t you?’

‘A previous fiancé is not the same as a previous wife,’ I retort. ‘And he’s not bloody well here for me to tell him how much I love him, is he?’

‘No,’ says Charles. ‘He’s waiting for you in your house.’

Pamela and Ellis stare at me.

‘Your ex-fiancé is your sick friend?’ asks Pamela.

‘It’s a long story,’ I say.

‘I’m sure we’ve time to hear it,’ says Ellis.

My phone beeps. I tell them my taxi is outside. It’s not, although it can’t be far away. The beep was alerting me to Steve’s message. It’s a picture of his empty plate.

Chapter 35

Iseult

The road to hell is paved with works in progress.

Philip Roth

Traffic is light and it takes half an hour to get home. As I put my key in the lock, my phone buzzes. It’s Charles. I don’t answer.

‘That you?’ calls Steve.

‘Who else?’ I open the door to the living room. His empty plate is on the side table along with a can of lager. ‘Everything OK?’ I ask.

‘Sure. Though I’m totally fed up with TV at this stage. Not even motorsport is exciting any more. I’m glad you’re back. I didn’t expect you this early. Was it a good evening?’

I could tell Steve the reason I’m home before 9.30, but I don’t need him picking over my relationship with Charles. Or Charles’s relationship with Ariel. Or indeed any of the deeply weird relationships that seem to exist in the Miller family. So I simply say it was fine and ask if he wants tea, even though I recall he’s already had half a dozen cups.

‘I’d love one,’ he replies.

I go into the kitchen and boil the kettle, throwing two tea bags into proper mugs as opposed to the designer china cups that Charles has. I let the tea brew for a lot longer too, before bringing it to the living room.

‘So,’ says Steve. ‘What’s your prospective mother-in-law like?’

‘I don’t want to talk about her.’

‘Jeez, you have form on mothers-in-law, Izzy. You didn’t like my mum either.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘You said she was a lightweight.’

I wince. That wasn’t the best moment in my relationship with Steve, who took it as an insult but fortunately didn’t share my ill-chosen description with his mum. The thing is, Lorraine is very different to me. She’s into all the latest products when it comes to fashion and beauty. And in fairness, she looks great. But she was forever suggesting a ‘touch of Botox’ and a ‘few mils of filler’ as solutions to what she described as my ‘over-expressive’ forehead and my ‘too-thin’ lips. When I got engaged to Steve, she gave me a voucher for her favourite beauty aesthetics salon, which, she told me, was totally up to speed with the absolute latest tweakments. And not that I don’t think everyone could probably benefit from a decent self-care regime, but I’m scared of needles and I need an expressive forehead! I want to be able to frown at some of the drivers coming through the port.

‘Whatever,’ he says. ‘You were always a bit snippy about Mum.’

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