Page 74 of Toy Boy

“Do you?”

I hold her stare, I want her to believe that what I’m saying is the truth, because it is. Mostly. “Yes. I do.”

She sits back, but keeps her eyes on me, and I can only assume that she’s one formidable force in the courtroom. Someone you’d rather have on your side than against you.

“Okay.”

That’s all she says, and I’m taking it, I’m not pushing it. Besides, it’s true. Idocare about Megan. And that’s the problem…

Megan

I’ve been sitting on the edge of the bath for about five minutes now. I didn’t really need to pee I just wanted a few minutes alone.

Staring down at my phone, I do something I haven’t done – because I haven’t wanted to – for a long time. I scroll through my photographs until I find the last one of Scott and I together. At a garden party thrown by one of his fellow surgeons. I remember the day well, like it was yesterday. The weather had been beautiful, warm and sunny with barely a cloud in the sky. Scott had looked heart-breakingly handsome in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his forearms, beige pants, and a light stubble covering his perfect jaw line. I’d worn a bright yellow sundress and white sandals, we’d looked so good together in that photograph. The perfect couple. Happily married. Ridiculously in love. That’s what welookedlike. But, in reality, our marriage had already started to fall apart. We were at the “putting on a show” stage, to maintain his reputation. I knew about his cheating. His ego-driven control issues. His lack of respect for my feelings; for me in general. And yet, looking at that photograph, all I’m seeing is a couple insanely in love. We must’ve been one hell of an acting team.

Less than a week after that garden party, I’d left him.

Walked away.

I hadn’t wanted to lay eyes on that man ever again.

And now I can’t get him out of my head.

Scrolling back, I try to find a photograph of the two of us in happier times. Truly happier times, not make believe ones. And I stop at one taken on holiday, in Portugal. He’d spent most of the time playing golf, I’d read books by the pool. I’d thought it had been one of the most relaxing holidays we’d ever had. And yet now, thinking back, I remember how we’d rarely spent any real time together; how I’d asked him to miss a day of golf, just one day, so that we could go and visit a local market. He’d refused. And I hadn’t pushed it, I’d just accepted it. I’d visited the market alone. And all of a sudden the memory of a holiday I’d only remembered as being perfect is marred by the truth of what it really was.

I find another photograph of us, this time on a trip to north Yorkshire, a surprise weekend away that he’d booked on the spur-of-the-moment, to a beautiful little B&B. We’d had the best time, the memories of this trip are nothing but good, because that’s exactly what they were. Yet untouched by his controlling ego, our marriage had been fresh and new and I was still at that stage when my life revolved around him. It just wouldn’t be long before that would start to become stifling, rather than exciting. And that fills me with an almost suffocating sadness.

Closing the photos down I get up and go over to the mirror above the sink, staring at my reflection. I look pretty. Ifeelpretty. And it suddenly hits me that I’ve never really felt that, not for a long time, until Xander arrived.

Breathing in deep I head back downstairs, aware that I’ve been gone longer than I intended. Laney’s in the kitchen, dusting the cheesecake with a thin layer of powdered sugar, the sound of loud chatter and laughter drifting in from the garden outside.

“Isn’t that thing sweet enough?” I ask, leaning over the island in the centre of her cavernous kitchen. Mine would fit in here three or four-fold.

“Well, you’d think so, but this is one beautifully balanced cheesecake. Just the right amount of ricotta, a little sour cream, not too much sugar, and a touch of freshly squeezed lime and lemon. All of this is really just for presentation purposes.”

“You didn’t make this, did you?”

She looks at me, her smirk matching mine. “Guilty. Our favourite restaurant in the village kindly donated it. Mitchell owed me a favour.”

“What kind of favour?” I reach over to pick a raspberry out of the bowl in front of me.

“I helped him win an appeal to get his parking ticket overturned.”

I tut and shake my head in mock disbelief. “Delving into the murky waters of rural village crime rings.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You don’t know the half of what goes on in this village.”

I stand up and go over to the fridge to see if there’s any more beer in there. I’m sick of prosecco now, I want a proper drink. “Nothing goes on in this village, Laney, you keep telling me that.”

“I know,” she sighs as she divides the cheesecake up into several equal-sized portions. “It’s a veritable bore-fest at times, but I love this house so much I don’t think I’ll ever move. I guess I’ll just have to keep hoping that one day, some tawdry secret will be revealed and all hell’ll break loose.” She looks down at the cheesecake. “Do you think those slices are too big?”

I come over, downing a mouthful of beer on the way. “No. Perfect size.”

“Good. Okay. Nearly done.”

I lean back against the counter and take another sip of beer, watching as Laney gathers together plates, pastry forks and some fresh napkins.

“Everything okay between you and Xander?”

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