Page 27 of The Work Husband

Sam shook his head, looking as if he might want to say something, but before he could, Jamie returned with a beer for him and another gin and tonic for me.

‘Nothing for yourself?’ Sam asked.

Jamie shook his head. ‘I’d best be off. Don’t want to cock-block.’ He leaned over and kissed me on both cheeks. I could smell his aftershave and whatever product he put on his hair that made it so shiny and smooth. Him and Ava, right up there with their great hair. The thought of her reminded me why I was doing this – what this was all for.

‘Bye,’ I managed to say. ‘Have a great weekend.’

‘And you.’ Jamie looked intently into my eyes. ‘I’ll see you on Monday.’

‘See you then,’ I muttered.

He strolled out, both Sam and I watching as he stopped to chat briefly to the woman at the desk by the door, grinning and making her laugh, before stepping out into the hot evening.

Then it was Sam’s eyes I found myself meeting, pale and steady after Jamie’s sparkling navy-blue gaze. I saw him notice my new dress and freshly applied make-up. I wondered if he could smell the perfume Jamie had made me apply after frog-marching me into the Liberty beauty hall on the way to the bar.

‘You look lovely, Georgia,’ he said. ‘Good day?’

‘Uh, busy. You know. Yours?’

I gulped my G&T, almost tipping ice down my chin. I should have been happy to see Sam. I was happy to see him. But my pleasure was soured by how clearly unsettled he’d been by seeing Jamie there.

Unsettling him is literally what is meant to happen! I could imagine Jamie’s voice as clearly as if he was still there with us.

And I knew that, although he wasn’t actually speaking to me, if he had been, then he would have been right. It was meant to happen. I’d done nothing wrong and I wasn’t going to.

I just wanted to remind Sam that it was me he wanted and not Ava, and that if he changed his mind, there were other people who did want me.

No matter how wretched it made me feel, I knew it was working.

FOURTEEN

I knew what day it was before I was even properly awake.

Sunday. And not just any Sunday – the day that had been entered into my online calendar for years, reminders set for a week before and a day before so that there was no risk of me forgetting.

As if I’d forget. Even without the alerts pinging dutifully at me, my own knowledge of what forgetting would lead to was enough to prevent that happening.

Mum’s birthday.

Which this year happened to fall on a Sunday, the tenth of July. Even if things had been normal between Sam and me, there was no chance that either of us would say, ‘What shall we do?’ today because we both knew what I was going to have to do.

It was seven o’clock – way too early to get up on any Sunday, including this one, even though Milton didn’t agree and was already stomping determinedly on my chest. I was fully awake now, the flat already warm with the promise of a scorching thirty-degree day incoming, the duvet feeling stifling even though I was only covered from mid-thigh downwards, Sam’s sleeping body like a radiator on full blast next to me.

I sat up slowly, dislodging the cat and trying not to wake Sam, but that didn’t work.

He turned over and opened eyes, his hair clinging damply to his brow.

‘It’s Sunday,’ he muttered.

‘I know,’ I said.

‘Are you…’ he began, then stopped.

He knew the answer, just like I knew the question.

‘Yep.’ I swung my feet out of bed and stood up. ‘Coffee?’

‘I’m all right. Think I’ll try and get some more kip.’ He closed his eyes, then opened them again. ‘Unless you want…?’