Page 100 of The Wedding Game

Although today was a bit of a fail in one department, it came on the back of success in another. I now have a bit of paper that proves I know what I’m talking about when it comes to interior design.

I’ll get there in the end on that driving test. It’s not like Ineedto pass. Now I’m living in a city again, I drive precisely nowhere, and I don’t own a car. I can’t see myself buying onewhen I pass, either. But I’mdeterminedto do it. I’ll book a few more lessons and take it from there.

After they go home I close the front door and tidy up the shoes scattered around the packing boxes, which have by now gathered a lot of dust. They’ve been here for months. Scarlet glances at the boxes pointedly every time she comes round, but I haven’t opened them yet. I like to joke they’re a permanent design feature, but in the end I had to confess and tell her my secret fear was that all those photos Josh and I took in our two years together, then spent time diligently choosing frames for, would be in those boxes.

‘It’s not just my things,’ I told her. ‘It’sourthings.’ I wasn’t ready to be confronted with Josh’s face smiling out at me from a photo frame, reminding me of a time when I thought I was happy. I also didn’t want to be confronted with my possessions; items I owned and wore when Josh and I were together. Each one would remind me of our shared memories. It wouldn’t have been so bad if everything in these boxes hadn’t been at his house, if I had never have moved in. Now they contain the relics of my two years of being happy, coupled and loved, or so I thought.

For ages I wondered if it might hurt, seeing the way Josh packed up our photos with my things and sent them away, deleting me from his shiny new life with Tamara. I half wondered for a while if I might be better off taking all the boxes to the charity shop and letting them enjoy the fruits of my failed relationship. But I couldn’t bring myself to do that, either. So the boxes remained.

But six months is a long time to have left all my stuff piled up. I’ve been in relationships that have lasted less time than these boxes have been here. I go to the kitchen, fill my glass with leftover wine and return to the hall. Only this time I’ve brought a pair of scissors, because I think I’m going to do it. I’m finally going to slice open the packing tape holding the boxes closed. I’m ready. I’m over it. I’m over Josh. My life has moved on, for the better, in so many ways. I’m happily single and I’ve not felt that way in for ever. Is it right to do this on a Friday night, after drinks with friends and a failed driving test behind me?

I psyche myself up. ‘Let’s do this,’ I whisper to no one, then cut open the packing tape on the first box.

I pull out clothes, wellies and all the outdoor gear I’d purchased, including a Schöffel gilet, hiking boots and a Barbour waxed jacket. I remember my old life at Josh’s, my old clothes. A few issues ofCountry Life, bought when I imagined this was the life I’d have, are bundled into another box, along with the entire contents of a Superdrug store. I forgot how much make-up I owned and left behind when I fled – or escaped, depending on how you look at it.

Literally anything I took into that house is now in this flat, 400 miles away from Josh. I stand back and assess the damage, spread all over the hall floor. Then I start carrying books towards shelves, and putting shoes I’d forgotten about into the spaces that were occupied by the now-empty boxes.

‘My silver ankle boots are here!’ I say to myself excitedly. I forgot about those. The last time I wore them was to the hotel opening. Which was also the last time I saw Chris.

And then I see something else as I pick up the empty boxes. At the bottom of one of them is a sealed envelope with the wordLexiewritten on it, in Josh’s handwriting.

My heart stills, my breath slows. I wonder if it’s a bill for the courier. I wonder if it’s an apology, a further explanation of everything he and Tamara did and why he thought it was OK. I open it carefully and pull out the letter: two sheets of A4 lined paper in Josh’s neat handwriting. I take a deep breath, start reading and only get halfway through before I’m floored by the contents. I can’t bring myself to finish it. I stare into the middle distance. ‘Oh. My. God.’

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Scarlet stands in the hallway the next morning, unable to make it into the flat all the way before she demands to see the letter. I hand it over and close the front door, while she kicks off her shoes and devours Josh’s words.

‘He can’t be serious?’ she baulks as she reads.

‘I think he is. He sounds serious.’

‘He wants you back? Where does it say that?’

‘Keep reading,’ I say as we walk towards the lounge.

She scans it. ‘Bloody hell,’ she exclaims. ‘He’s made a mistake,’ she paraphrases, ‘he wants you back, he can’t sleep at night, he knows he’s made the worst mistake of his life. He doesn’t love her.’ Scarlet looks up at that one and stares at me. ‘He doesn’t love Tamara!’she exclaims again.

‘Yeah. I did not see that one coming.’

‘Me neither,’ she says. ‘He’s in love with you,’ she continues and looks up at me in shock again.

I’m not as shocked now as I was when I read the letter yesterday, so my expression doesn’t mirror hers. I feel strangely emotionless. And confused about Josh’s U-turn. Was this what all those missed calls were about?

‘He’s in love with you. He’s the worst person on Earth for doing what he did. You’re the best thing that ever happenedto him. He bangs on about how much you loved him, and the surprise party, and … blah-blah-blah,’ Scarlet says. She scans the rest, which is more or less a varied repeat of the contents that come before it, and then she looks at me, shakes her head, folds the letter and hands it back.

I don’t need to scan through it again. I’ve read it nine times. I place it on the coffee table and step back from it, as if it’s a nuclear weapon and should be left well alone.

‘What are you going to do?’ she asks.

‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘That letter has been in the box for six months, so … I guess I’m going to do nothing.’

‘Damn right. After what Josh did to you.’

‘I know,’ I reply. ‘I can’t believe he wrote that. I have to believe he’s telling the truth. I have to take it at face value. But it was six months ago, and yes, there have been a couple of calls since then, but it’s probably because I refused to answer the phone to him that he’s stopped since. He mightnotfeel the same way now as he did a few months ago. And I don’t feel the same way about Josh as I once did, so I don’t have to do anything about it, right?’

‘No, you don’t. What a twat!’ Scarlet says.

I smile.

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