Page 6 of The Monday Night Heartbreak Club
‘Don’t worry, I’m still single,’ I muttered.
Flynn, behind the bar again, poured me an unasked-for small glass of wine. ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘Being single isn’t that bad. Sometimes better than the alternative.’
I thought of Dex. He might not have been perfect partner material, but at least he’dbeen there. He’d shown that I could have a normal life – a flat, a boyfriend, a job – despite everything I’d always been told. I’d beendoing it, having a life. Now, everything was gradually seeping away from me, leaving like heatevaporating from a warm bath. I was floundering in the cold water already.
‘Very gnomic.’ I picked up my glass. ‘They should hire you to write T-shirt slogans.’ Being bitchy to Flynn distracted me from feeling sorry for myself. Then I looked at Margot. She was a little paler than she had been previously, her make-up just a touch less perfect. ‘Are you all right?’
As though my question surprised her, she jerked her head up and stared at a corner of the ceiling. This went on for so long that Flynn and I made eye contact and pulled faces, indicating that we were unsure as to whether or not interrupting her upward stare might result in a tirade.
Finally, she brought her eyes back down to the table. ‘Yes, thank you, Fee. I’m fine. The divorce is going ahead. Bruce has agreed to all my terms. I’m having the house, of course, and half his pension.’
Flynn and I widened eyes at each other now. ‘Wow,’ I said. ‘What does he get?’
‘Oh, he’s having the place in Spain.’
‘Well, that’s…’
‘And the cabin in Scotland. Plus the boat, of course.’
There was a pause. I didn’t know what to say to any of that, other than anotherWow, but I thought the previous one pretty well summed things up. ‘And are you happy about that?’ I asked eventually.
Margot sighed. ‘I shall miss the cabin. The Highlands are so wonderfully relaxing out of season, I find.’
I hadn’t meant that. I’d really meant to ask her how she felt about her husband wanting a divorce. She’d already mentioned not having children and I wanted to know if that had been the bone of contention or whether she had been replaced with a younger, blonder model. I wanted company in my misery,basically, and her resolute attitude wasn’t giving me the All Men Are Bastards vibe that I was after.
The door jingled and our newest recruit, the bloke who’d been wearing theStar WarsT-shirt, came in. ‘Just a pint, mate,’ he said to Flynn, who had half-heartedly begun to sort bottles in the racking.
‘This is a wine bar,’ Flynn said levelly.
‘Pint of wine then,’ said Luke Skywalker, and guffawed, as though this had been one of Stephen Fry’s best-ever comeback lines.
Flynn sighed and poured a large glass of white wine. Tonight his hair was loose and hung around his face, which made him look like a student working his evening job, although I knew he must be older. I wondered what else he did, apart from working in here. Or maybe this was all he did?
Mr Star Wars saw Margot and me and came bouncing over, balancing his wine carefully. ‘Didn’t get to introduce myself last week, did I?’ He stuck out the hand not holding the wine. ‘I’m Fraser. Fraze-the-Haze, the boys call me.’
‘Do they?’ Margot shook hands, looking a bit faint. ‘Why?’
Fraser’s face scrunched up in thought. He had a very round face; the fringe of beard did nothing to disguise its rotundity and made him look like a baby in fake facial hair. ‘Well, well… haze, it’s like fog, isn’t it?’ he asked, uncertain in the face of Margot’s stringent questioning. ‘Like – stops you seeing?’
Her expression became one of intermediate clarity. ‘Oh. Isee. Airborne pollution. Obviously. Silly of me, really.’
Fraser-the-Particulates-in-Suspension sat down, looking a bit stunned, and took a large mouthful of his wine, which made me warm to him a bit.
‘I’m Fee and this is Margot,’ I said. Then, in a spirit of mischief, ‘And the onlookeris called Flynn.’
Flynn waved.
‘Our other two are Annie and Wren. I’m sure they’ll be here in a minute.’
‘Wren called to say she may be a little late.’ Margot was fiddling with the notepads again. ‘I gave her my number last week, I should give it to you too, Fee. In case you can’t make a meeting or something.’
‘Can I have your number too?’ Fraser glanced over. ‘In case I’m late.’
Margot paused. ‘I’m not sure that’s appropriate,’ she said. ‘I don’t give my number out to men I don’t know.’
‘Well, that’s discrimination then, isn’t it?’ He sounded confrontational. ‘What do you think I’m going to do with it? Unless you reckon all men are drunk-diallers who’re going to phone you up, pissed, and send you dick pics.’ The confrontational tone was diluted somewhat when he swigged another mouthful of wine as though it were lager.
He did have a point.
