Page 9 of I Knew You Were Trouble

As she closes the bathroom door, she starts singing ‘Good as Hell’ at top volume. I’m pretty sure that’s for my benefit but regardless, cats in heat have better pitch than Margot, and her horrible singing makes me chuckle.

I really am glad she’s here. If it weren’t for Margot, I’d be curled up in bed right now, sobbing over a man who doesn’t deserve evenoneof my tears.

3

KATE

Tuesday morning, my eyelids flutter open and I peek at the time. Fifteen minutes till my alarm but there’s no sense in trying to get back to sleep – if I’d been asleep to begin with. Thank god I don’t have a waterbed. I was tossing and turning so much last night, I would have made myself seasick.

Though, it would have been worse if I hadn’t talked Margot out of setting up camp at mine while I ‘process what’s happened’. The woman snores like a grizzly bear.

In the pre-dawn light, I stare up at the lampshade above my bed, thinking for the fiftieth time that I should replace it with something less… well, seventies. Then my mind wanders to darker waters, to Friday night before my world came crashing down.

I’d had a massive week at work – hitting three competing deadlines and putting out several fires, something I excel at – and I was shattered, but happy.

Well, if not happy, then content. I have a good life –verygood. If I were an influencer, I’d be hash-tagging ‘gratitude’ and ‘blessed’ all over the damned place.

I’m on track professionally as a senior project manager, the variety of my work keeps me motivated, and I get to stretch myself with each new project. I love my flat (seventies light fittings aside), which I purchased two years ago with my life savings, a little help from my great-aunt, and a mortgage that would scare some people, but which I plan to pay off by the time I’m fifty (if not before). I have a decent social life – a handful of colleagues who have become friends and a few of Margot’s mates who’ve ‘adopted’ me. And most Sundays, I head to the pub for a roast lunch and chitchat with the locals.

Rounding out this audit of my (until four days ago) contented life, I’m engaged.

‘To a scam artist,’ I mutter out loud. ‘Ugh,’ I groan, scrubbing my hands over my face. ‘And it’swas, Kate.Wasengaged.’

I lift my left hand – much lighter now I’m not wearing that (let’s face it) monstrosity – and run my thumb over the pale, ring-shaped indentation where the ring used to be. I took it off on Friday night and shoved it in a drawer under the tatty knickers I only wear when I’ve got my period.

I stupidly forgot to put it on for work yesterday – a bare ring finger raises suspicions and I’m not ready yet for pitying looks from my colleagues – and eagle-eyed Sue asked where it was. I told her it was being cleaned, but I won’t be able to use that excuse forever. At some point, I will have to end this ‘engagement’ and then I’ll have to tell everyone it’s off, enduring whatever well-meaning words pop out of their mouths. I suspect, based on something Margot let slip while we were at Mayberry’s getting facials, that my parents won’t be disappointed.

And what’s the etiquette for keeping a ring given to you by a cheating liar? Maybe I can sell it back to the jeweller. No doubt it would be a significant sum, making a nice dent in my mortgage. Although, I can imagine Margot’s reaction if I don’t spend the money on something less practical – like one of those ridiculous designer handbags she’s had her eye on since I can remember. Who spends thousands of pounds on ahandbag?

I reach for my phone – habit – and check my messages – also habit. My loins (and the rest of me) are heavily girded for a message from Jon telling me how much he misses me all the way from Madrid. I have no idea where he really is. He could be right down the road for all I know, laughing his arse off at how gullible I am and congratulating himself for duping me.

I navigate to my messaging app. Nothing from Jon – thank god – but there is one from Willem, and my telltale heart flutters. I ignore it. No matter what Margot says, crushing on Willem is aterribleidea.

Besides, I’m sure it’s only happening because my subconscious is in chaos and it’s trying to distract me.Look, Kate, look at the handsome man who could scoop you up in his arms and carry you upstairs without breaking a sweat, then do wicked, wicked things to you with those enormous hands of his.

‘Other parts of him are probably enormous too,’ I mutter, making myself snigger. I read the message:

Adriana plans to introduce Dunn to our parents next week. I could really use your help.

Oh right. I haven’t agreed to go to Amsterdam yet. The smile falls from my face as unease ripples through me. It may be the right thing to do, but am I ready to entangle myself further in Jon’s web of lies?

Lies, such as Jon saying he was going to be in Sweden next week (not Amsterdam), flying the Stockholm/Bangkok route for two weeks. He probably googles flight routes and picks the ones he likes the sound of. I can’t imagine where he gets the trinkets he brings me – a tiny, carved Buddha from Thailand, lingonberry jam from Sweden, a silk scarf from Istanbul. Does he simply order them online? He must have a great laugh at my expense when I ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ over them.

I read Willem’s message again. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t even know I was one of two women engaged to the same man. Does that make me indebted to him?

My alarm chimes while I’m holding my phone, catching me off-guard, and I turn it off, shelving that question for another time. I fling back the duvet and climb out of bed, heading straight to the shower. Big day today – and I’m of two minds about it.

One of those minds is dreading going into work.

This is a first for me since I landed my dream job at Elev8te, a coaching organisation for C-level executives. I love my job – not only the work itself, but also my colleagues. And I am fully ‘drinking the Kool-Aid’ with Elev8te. We help organisations build a positive workplace culture, making people’s working lives better. My boss, who founded the company, should be knighted. Or, as she is a woman,damed.

But yesterday, I was so consumed by this situation with Jon, I was completely useless – couldn’t concentrate to save myself. My colleagues started looking at me oddly and exchanging loaded glances. I ended up faking a migraine and going home early – also a first. This puts me half a day behind, which I aim to make up by lunchtime,andI’ll have to lie about ‘feeling better’, which makes me uncomfortable. It’s one thing telling a small fib about a missing engagement ring, another to fake a malady.

The other of my two minds is eager for what’s happeningbeforework. I’m returning to the Ever After Agency to meet with Poppy Dean, something I teed up while ‘convalescing’ on my sofa yesterday afternoon.

I was lying there, mindlessly scrolling through I can’t even remember which streaming app, when I thought about something Margot said on Friday night, about getting back at Jon. And in that moment of perfect clarity, I realised that if Jon’s deception has impacted mesoseverely, completely upending my world, including my ability to do my job, then Idowant him to pay.

I’m not sure how Poppy can help with that, but it’s got to be worth asking.

---