Page 94 of The Wedding Game

‘He shagged Tamara. His moral compass is iffy.’

I slump briefly and then try to rally. ‘When I work out what I’m doing and where I’m going next, I’ve decided to let him pack it all up for me. Josh can be trusted to do that, even if he can’t be trusted not to cheat on me. Plus he can shoulder the cost of it all, and the burden. I can’t go back and do it. I can’t go back ever again.’

‘I’m still impressed you just turned on your heel and ran,’ Scarlet says.

I didn’t exactly do a runner. I bundled a few items into my case and called a taxi. I stood outside for ages, drowning in my own humiliation while I waited for it to arrive eventually. Josh tried to offer me a lift and then tried to make me stay, so he could explain in more horrific detail, in an act to appease his own conscience. Or get it off his chest. I’ll never know now. He won’t give me another thought. He’s in love with Tamara – Tamara who’s been right under his nose theentire time. I was the usurper who stood in the way of them being together. Scarlet called it from day one. She smelled trouble from the moment I told her about their friendship. I’m an idiot. I’m—

‘I’m the other woman,’ I say suddenly.

‘Sorry?’

‘I’mthe other woman. I’m the one who stood in the way of two people who love each other getting together for the past two years. I’m the one who thought this was the real deal, when really it wasn’t. If this were a book or a film, I’d be … I’d be the one you’d hate. I’d be the one you wanted to fall down a mineshaft or get a work placement in Timbuktu, so the hero could be with the real love of his life. Fucking hell, Tamara is theheroine.’

Scarlet blows air out of her cheeks. ‘Oh, shit,’ she exclaims, which says everything without saying anything. ‘No,’ she replies quickly. ‘No, no, no. That’s not how this works.’

‘Yes, it is,’ I say. ‘Tamara is the heroine. I’m not. Tamara is the real love of Josh’s life, and I am the evil crone who needed defeating so that Princess Tamara could get her happy ending.’

‘You’re kind of ranting now,’ Scarlet tells me and wrestles the wooden spoon off me, so she can stir the risotto that’s sticking to the bottom of the pot.

I can’t say anything that’s not already been said, and silence descends on the kitchen. ‘It’s quiet here,’ I point out, my tone still gloomy and depressive. I appreciate that we’re in a residential street, but there’s no noise and no signof life. It’s like that scene in28 Days Laterwhen a young Cillian Murphy wakes up from a coma, walks around alone and can’t find a single person. ‘It’s quiet for a city,’ I point out.

‘Yeah, this bit of Edinburgh is, compared to where we lived in London. It’s really residential,’ Scarlet says. ‘Not always quiet, though.’

I’m still staring out of the window. A delivery van pulls up at the house across the road.

‘It’s not a massive city,’ she goes on. ‘Anyway, my point earlier – before we went off on a tangent – was this: Rory says you can store your stuff in his garage if you want. It’s where he keeps all his work tools and lawnmower but, unless you’ve accumulated loads more stuff, it should all fit. It’s an easy solution to your problem … to one of your problems,’ she clarifies, making me smile. I love Scarlet for saying the truth, no matter how hard it sounds. Her lack of filter is one of her finest qualities.

‘But his garage is in Leith.’

‘Yes, it is,’ she says. ‘It’s not far from here.’

‘That’s the point I’m making. His garage is in Scotland.’

‘Yes?’

‘Why would I want my stuff in Scotland?’

‘Because you’reinScotland,’ she replies slowly, as if I’m stupid. She’s silent then, looking at me as if waiting for me to get there by myself.

I smile properly for the first time since Josh blindsided me. ‘You think I should live in Scotland?’

‘Edinburgh,’ she tells me. ‘I’m being really specific aboutthis because, selfishly, I like having you around. Don’t move to the Hebrides or anything.’

‘Why would I move to Edinburgh?’

‘Why wouldn’t you? You could move here for a bit. Find a furnished flat – there’s plenty of them, so I don’t have to hand over half this lot.’ She gestures around to all our old furniture. ‘Where else were you planning to go after you’d finished licking your wounds?’

‘London,’ I say automatically.

‘Why?’ she fires back.

‘Because … it’s where I live.’

‘Youlivedin London. Then youlivedin the Cotswolds. Now you’re homeless.’

I laugh. ‘I’m nothomeless.’

‘You can’t live here. You can’t graduate from the sofabed to the boxroom. I need that boxroom for my computer. My monitor is huge.’

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