Page 7 of All Mine
‘So we bought you this.’ Rosie, the blonde, pulled out a tourist information guide to Honeybridge from her bag.
‘And this,’ the redhead, Wren, said, pulling a bottle of white wine from her bag, followed by a bottle of rosé.
‘We didn’t know what you drink!’ They both laughed.
‘Both!’ Isabella opened the door wide and welcomed them in.
Within ten minutes, one of the bottles was open, Isabella had found a family bag of crisps to share, and Wren and Rosie were sitting on the sofa, feet tucked up under them, like they had been there a thousand times before.
‘So, what’s your story?’ Rosie asked.
‘Sorry?’ Isabella said.
‘Don’t worry about her,’ Wren said. ‘To her, everything is a story. She’s the biggest book nerd I’ve ever met. That’s why we run a bookshop.’
‘I can’t help it,’ Rosie said. ‘I find it fascinating– the stories of people’s lives.’ Both women focused their full attention on her.
‘Well. . .’ Isabella wasn’t sure where to start. Primary school? Going to uni? How far back did they want her to go? She cleared her throat but nothing came out.
‘What brought you here?’ Rosie asked. Her eyes were wide and interested behind her huge glasses, which she pushed up her nose with amazing frequency.
‘I got divorced,’ Isabella said, which made Wren sit forward and Rosie look like she was going to start taking notes.
‘Sorry to hear that,’ Wren said.
‘That’s a shame,’ said Rosie.
Isabella took a second, shrugged, then sighed.
‘Turns out he’d been having an affair for a couple of years.’
‘Bastard!’ muttered Rosie and Wren together.
‘So I kind of feel like I’m the mug.’
‘Never.’ Both women rolled their eyes.
‘I didn’t see it coming,’ she went on.
‘He hid it well then?’ Rosie rested her elbows on her knees like she was watching a gripping film.
‘I thought we were happy,’ Isabella said. ‘We’d just booked a holiday when I found out.’
‘Unbelievable!’ Wren chipped in.
‘And once I saw the text message, he still tried to deny it.’
‘Arsehole,’ they said together and collapsed back on the sofa.
Isabella laughed. They were right. And in the time it had taken to drink half a glass of wine together she felt like she’d found new friends.
‘So why are you here, though?’
Isabella took a deep breath, topped up their glasses and started to talk. Telling Wren and Rosie the abbreviated version of her marriage, her divorce, her hopes and dreams. As she talked, Rosie tucked herself casually against Wren, who laid an arm behind her on the sofa, and Isabella realised their double act was more, much more, than a working relationship. The way that they touched, finished each other’s sentences and frequently shared smiles reminded her of how she and Daniel were a million years ago. The memory stabbed at her with a second of loss. But that thought led to wondering how many times he’d sat next to her on the sofa with his phone in his pocket, waiting to feel the thrilling vibration of his lover’s text message. Or how many times he’d arrived home with flowers ‘just because’ when he meant they were ‘just because I’ve been shagging my work colleague over the photocopier all evening’.
‘Anyway, so now Honeybridge is my home and this restaurant is my future.’ She finished her glass of wine in one gulp and went to refill but the white was empty. She crossed to the fridge and pulled out the rosé, holding it up towards them in question.
‘Why not?’
