Page 86 of The Fall-Out

‘Of course it did. Jesus. I can’t imagine how that must have felt. But you know it’s not true, right?’

‘I do now. I always did, really. But she made me doubt myself. Not a lot, but – you know. Enough.’

‘And you’re not doubting yourself any more?’

She shook her head.

‘Thank God for that,’ I said.

‘I’m so sorry, Naomi. I feel terrible. I should have known you’d never have thought that, never mind said it. To Zara, of all people.’

‘I believed stuff she told me, too, you know. In spite of myself.’

‘What stuff?’

I shook my head. Now, sitting in the sunshine with my best friend, it seemed ridiculous. But by saying it, I knew I could reduce its power forever.

‘She made me feel like I was the odd one out, of us. Actually, she told me she’d felt that way, and it reminded me that I used to, as well. But I always thought she was the one who fitted in and I wasn’t. God, it sounds so pathetic when I say in out loud.’

Rowan laughed, but it was a hollow sound, different from the laughter we’d shared earlier.

‘Wow,’ she said. ‘She really knows how to push our buttons.’

‘And I bet that’s not all.’ I stood up, feeling lighter somehow, full of determination. ‘She’ll have said things to Kate, too. And to Abbie.’

‘My God,’ Rowan breathed. ‘Yes. You’re right.’

‘And I’m going to find out what. And I’m going to make things all right between us again.’

THIRTY-ONE

There wasn’t much point staying in Paris after that – our mission was accomplished, after all. But, somewhat guiltily, Rowan and I stayed anyway. We might as well, we agreed – the tickets were paid for, my children were safe with Patch and Clara was spending the weekend with a friend. We were free; we might as well enjoy ourselves.

And so we did. We went to a patisserie with an array of cakes in the window that looked like jewels, and took as long deciding which to have as we did eating them. We walked along the river in the sunshine and climbed what felt like a million steps up to Montmartre to see the city spread out below us like a printed silk scarf. I bought a beautifully cut slate-grey blazer that would form the basis of my future work wardrobe.

Being there with my friend was a reminder of how things used to be and a promise of how they’d be again – if only I could find a way to make it so. All the way home on the train, I carefully considered my strategy. I wasn’t going to descend on Kate at work the way I had on Rowan – I knew that wouldn’t work. I needed to be careful and tactful. I knew how to do that – or at least I used to, back when it was my job to manage people’s demands and needs and moods just as much as it was to manage my boss’s diary.

So, on Monday afternoon, I sent Kate an email asking if I could meet up with her. It was the first time I’d been in contact with her since I’d left the Girlfriends’ Club group; I imagined her seeing my name in her email inbox and reacting with – what? Happiness? Anger? Disdain? I couldn’t be sure, which was why I’d approached her saying that I needed advice, without specifying about what. I knew that whatever doubts she was feeling about our friendship, Kate would be willing to help me if she believed I needed her.

And I did need her. What she didn’t know was that she needed me, too.

She replied after an hour or so, with her typical efficiency.

Sure – want to come round to my place this evening? Or I could come to yours if you can’t leave the children?

Fortunately, Patch had reluctantly taken the day off work and hadn’t yet left for the gym, so I was able to apologetically inform him that his plans were changing, and he’d have to stay in to give the twins their dinner.

‘But you’ve been away all weekend,’ he objected.

‘But I give them dinner every single day of my life,’ I countered. Then I decided I’d catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, and added, ‘Please? It’s important.’

‘Fine,’ he grumbled, and I grabbed my bag and fled before he could change his mind.

When I arrived at Kate’s apartment just south of the River Thames, the door to her balcony was open and a bottle of wine in an ice bucket, two glasses and a dish of cheese straws which I could smell were freshly out of the oven awaited us on the table outside.

I felt briefly encouraged by this welcome, before remembering that even if Kate’s worst enemy had called on her unexpectedly, she’d have insisted they have a cup of Earl Grey and a scone.

‘How was Paris?’ she asked.

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