Page 51 of The Work Husband

Sam appeared in the hallway with a towel. ‘Dry yourself off, then have a seat. I’ll take these and put them in water, and put the kettle on.’

I helped Jamie remove his jacket. He peeled off his sodden shirt and wrapped the towel round his shoulders – like he’s getting ready to take a seat at a basin in the hairdresser’s, I thought, resisting the urge to giggle.

But this was no laughing matter. Sam’s face when he left the room had been like thunder.

I guided Jamie through to the living room and sat him down on the sofa, putting a throw down first so his wet bum wouldn’t ruin the upholstery.

Then I went to the kitchen to find Sam.

He was pouring boiling water over instant coffee granules in a mug – no bean-to-cup espresso for Jamie, I noticed.

‘What the hell is he doing here?’ Sam demanded.

‘I don’t know. Honestly, Sam, I’ve got no idea. I’ll ask him, but⁠—’

‘He’s in no fit state to tell you his own name right now. But he made his way here to see you, complete with flowers and champagne.’

‘Well, not champagne,’ I pointed out. Whichever random on the Tube had picked up Jamie’s gift to me was probably enjoying it right now. I hoped they had a reason to celebrate because I certainly didn’t.

‘As he’d no doubt say’ – Sam imitated Jamie’s accent, complete with the slurring – ‘“it’s the thought that counts”. Anyway, I expect he’ll find a way to explain himself to you. I’m off to bed.’

He turned and left the room. Quickly, I cleared up the remains of our dinner, then picked up the coffee Sam had made.

I had no idea what I was going to say to Jamie or how he would explain his bizarre appearance at our home. No doubt this was part of whatever plan he’d concocted, only executed drunkenly and ineptly. In any case, it had not only interrupted the talk I’d been planning to have with Sam but made him properly furious.

But when I carried the mug through to the living room, Jamie had passed out cold on the sofa, the towel (mercifully) covering his naked torso like a damp blanket.

TWENTY-FIVE

It felt as if I didn’t sleep at all that night. I don’t know whether Sam did or whether he was just pretending to. In any event, his back was utterly still next to me when I got under the covers, and it stayed that way, a chilly few inches of mattress in between us.

I lay there, rigid, nervous about what I might hear. What if Jamie woke up and tried to sneak into our bedroom to cause more trouble between Sam and me? What if he got up needing to be sick and didn’t make it to the bathroom?

Sam’s mood was pretty foul already – how he’d feel if he had to clean up vomit in the small hours didn’t bear thinking about.

And what – what the actual? – had Jamie even being doing here in the first place?

I must have drifted into a light doze, but the footsteps I’d expected to hear woke me. Glancing at my watch, I saw it was half past three. Jamie was moving around the flat almost silently – his shoes must still be in the hallway where he’d left them when he took off his jacket.

I heard him open and close the bathroom door and braced myself for the sound of retching, but there was only the flush of the toilet. Next to me, Sam lay immobile. The latch on the bathroom door clicked again, and I heard soft footsteps padding past our bedroom – past, thank God – and then through to the hallway.

A few seconds later, I heard the front door open and close.

He’d gone. Woken up and let himself out, presumably reluctant to face me or Sam in the morning. I didn’t blame him – but he was certainly going to have some explaining to do when I saw him in the office.

Except, as it turned out, I didn’t.

When I emerged from the Tube station at twenty-five past nine, running late because, having eventually fallen asleep, my body had decided there was no way it was waking up at seven, my phone was ringing.

Shit. Surely even at his narkiest, Jasper wouldn’t be calling me to tell me off before I was even late?

But the name on my screen was Zahra’s.

‘Hello?’ I gasped, my phone pressed to my ear. ‘Georgia speaking.’

‘Georgia, hi. It’s me.’

‘Hi, Zahra.’ I made sure my bright, professional voice was on, pausing in a doorway so I wouldn’t sound flustered and out of breath, giving away the fact that I’d run up the stairs out of the station two at a time and felt like I might die. ‘How are you?’