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Hepocketed his phone and looked up towards his office windows.Francescahadn’t even responded when he said goodbye.Ina way, he was glad she’d been so direct with him.Therewas no question now about what he should do.
Francescawas not an option and it wasn’t fair toJessthat he was dithering like this when she had no idea.Sono more dithering.Jessand he had two years of building a solid relationship under their belts.HeknewJess.HetrustedJess.Hewould dedicate himself 100% to making her happy and giving her the marriage she deserved.Theyhad all the ingredients they needed to make a long, stable life together.Hewould continue with his plan to propose.
Despitethis clarity, something niggled at him.Athought that had started as a seed and had grown steadily with every step he took, and the thought was this:JaiveertheChoreographerseemed awfully convenient.She’dnever mentioned a boyfriend, and suddenly one appeared, as though by magic.
Whichled him on the short journey to wondering aboutFuckingNorman.Hadhe been real?OrhadFrancescacreated these imaginary boyfriends as a way to pushKrishaway?
Andif that was the case, that left another big question.
Why?
20
Theoffice wasquiet withoutKrish.
Notjust quiet.Empty.Avoid.Aman cave without its man.Ajoyless cell.
Francescalay her head on the back of her chair and twirled around in a full circle.Thenshe did it again.Andagain.Herhot water bottle flew off her lap, landing with a thud on the floor.
Ithad been a long and lonely week.Firstthere was the wedding she’d shot onSaturday.Tedious, predictable, and clichéd in every way.Thankfully, her pain from the endometriosis and fibroids waited untilSundaymorning to make its monthly appearance.She’dspentMondaythroughWednesdaytucked up in bed with ibuprofen and a bottle of vodka, trying to stay off the co-codamol in case she needed it for theBlenheimjob.Whileher hard drives had copied over to a second back-up, she edited on her tiny laptop screen.Shehated working on just one screen when she was used to having all her menus, timelines, and film clips spread out over three.Havingeverything scrunched together in such a minuscule space gave her a headache, on top of everything else.
Butit was worth it to avoidKrish.
Sheglanced over towards his empty workstation.
Rightnow he would be packing for his trip, printing out his tickets, checking the weather for the weekend. ‘Bonbloody voyage,’ she said as she spun again.
Inher head, she heardKrish’svoice:Iwish you could see yourself the way thatIsee you.You’restrong and stubborn, crazily talented, and funny.
Hercheeks glowed red.Hehad the crazy part right.Themore she tried not to think about it, the more his words echoed around her skull.Shewanted to find pleasure in them, but instead they had the opposite effect.Shevisualised her thoughts as a game ofWhack-a-Mole: every time one popped up, she’d bash its head in with a hammer.Herheart hardened just a little bit more.Shehad done the right thing.
Andthen there was his other question:Whatare you scared of?
‘Everything,’ she said aloud to the empty room.
Asharp pain in her side made her wince.Shepicked up her hot water bottle, a pink rubber thing shaped like a penis.Ithad a big smile on its willy face, a party favour from her sisterDonna’shen party a few years ago.Francescapressed it to her abdomen.
Insome good news, she had found the team members she needed for the wedding atBlenheim:David, a drone operator whose portfolio looked amazing, came highly recommended to her by an old film school colleague, and her second shooter wasWally, who she’d worked with a long time ago.Finally, things were falling into place.Theyboth had their own kit, too, which took a load off her mind, even though she could actually afford to buy whatever they needed now.Infact, she could afford to have the door at her old office replaced, too.
Shewas rich.Well…comparatively.
Aftertheir talk, she had sentKrisha very professional and impersonal email to ask when she’d get paid and what number to put on her invoice.Thenumber he sent back in his equally professional and impersonal email made her eyes water, making her realise she reallyhadn’tbeen charging enough for her services.ThankgodKrishwasn’t in the room when she found out, because she might have jumped him again.
Themoney was in her account the next day.Keento get out of his office, she had already engaged a builder to do the work on her door next week.AftertheBlenheimwedding, she’d move out.She’dsit tight for the final month of her lease and then find somewhere nicer to work.
Anotherspasm pierced her body, and she bent over, praying for it to pass.Aftera few minutes, she relaxed as the pain eased.
Abuzzer rang in the other room, andFrancescagot up cautiously to investigate, bringingHotWillywith her.Thenoise sounded again.Sherealised it was some sort of doorbell.Shehadn’t realised they had one.
Openingthe door, she found a slim, beautiful redhead woman with a stylish grey pram, whom she vaguely recognised, but couldn’t place.
‘Hello,’ the visitor said. ‘Youmust beFrancesca.Krishhas told me all about you.’
Francescacleared her throat.Whatexactly had he told her?Thatstatement contained a lot of possibilities.Witha suspicious edge, she said, ‘Andyou are…?’
‘Sorry!I’mStellaKnight.Andthis isGrace.’Shemotioned towards the chubby, pink-cheeked cherub sleeping in the pram.Shepushed it forward, indicating thatFrancescashould step aside.
Withoutthinking,Francescadid, her attention focused on the baby as it was wheeled past her.Shedidn’t have a lot of opportunities to be close to children, and when she was, she experienced a strange push and pull.Thepush was the fact that they served as a reminder of the type of family she’d never have.Thepull was curiosity.Whatdid it feel like to hold one?Whatdid it feel like to breastfeed?Whatwas she missing?
