and stretched, yawning. Her eye caught sight of a curling photo on the fridge. It was of her, Simon and Paddy at Simon’s fourth birthday party. Mary crouched down beside them, holding a cake alive with four candles. Simon’s cheeks were puffed out, and beside him sat a smaller but identical Paddy and Laura, aged five and six respectively, their faces agog with the action. It always made her smile.
It made Laura smile then, comforting in its familiarity, and she turned out the kitchen light and went into her room. She didn’t clean her teeth or wash her face, she simply fell into bed and pulled the cool sheets up and around her. She was going to take action tomorrow, she was going to do something to pierce the bubble that she’d been living in, to face up to the truth and let the real world in again. So she could get on. So she could get over it. Her last thought before she fell asleep again was, If I can get through tomorrow, I’ll be fine.
Early evening, and the heat of the day hung over the city. It was inescapable, both in Laura’s flat, which was airless and oppressive, and out on the street where it was dirty and badtempered. The city smelt, not of the delicious smells of summer in London, mown grass and barbecues and cigarette smoke and petrol, heat rising from the ground. No, tonight, on this unbearably hot Friday night, it smelt of sweat, stale beer, a whiff of dustbins and people. Too many people.
Laura stood against the upholstered pad by the stairs of the bus as it lurched its way from the cooler, leafier roads of North London down into the heart of the city. The bus was sweltering, crowded, uncomfortable, and she grew angrier and crosser as it jolted down Oxford Street.
She was late to meet Dan. Even though she’d had nothing to do all day, even though no one knew she wasn’t in work, not even Paddy. No one had called, no one had noticed her absence from email or the phone. She had sat in the flat all day, talking to no one, eating nothing, smoking a lot and thinking about this evening with an increasing sense of dread. There was no one she could talk to, anyway. No one who knew how badly she’d fucked up, and she wanted it to stay that way. And no one who knew about her and Dan – apart from Paddy. Throughout the day Laura’s mind swam back to the scene in the sitting room late the previous night. She had to make it up to Paddy somehow. And Jo. Yes, Jo too. She had enough on her plate at the moment, though. No, she’d sort this situation out first, and if it worked out – a big if, but she knew it would, it had to this time – then at least, no matter what else happened, she and Dan Floyd would finally be able to tell everyone they were in love, they were a couple, and Amy was history. If she could only get off this horrible bus. Laura ran her hand over the back of her neck. Her hair was twisted up in a clip, but her neck still felt sweaty. She leant against the wall, and the bus lurched forward, jolting her into a hot flush again.
‘Why the hell do they heat these things in summer?’ she muttered, then realised the perfectly normal nice girl next to her had moved away, clearly thinking she was one of those crazy bus people who feel the need to carry on conversations with themselves. The heat of the walls seemed to burn the backs of her legs, and the prickly synthetic upholstery she leant against made her want to itch all over. All the windows were open – tiny, mean slivers one had to pull down with a bang. But no fresh air came in and there was no breeze to cool her down.
Laura sighed. She shut her eyes and tried to pretend. It was two weeks’ time. She was in Florida somewhere, on a beach with Dan, wearing a kaftan and her cool new pink jewelled flip-flops. The heat was unbearable, but it was OK, she could go inside to the air-conditioned terrace bar and get a drink with lots of straws and sparklers in it. And lie on the cool linen cushions, feeling the material crisp and crunchy beneath her back. She and Dan were walking along the beach hand in hand. It was night, and the sound of music and chatter could be heard in the near distance. Dan stopped, pulled her to him, and said, ‘Darling, I love you – will you –’
‘Get out of my fucking way!’ someone behind her finished, and Laura turned, alarmed, and realised she was standing in front of the exit. A woman pushed past her, shoving Laura out of the way, and a steady stream of people followed her, all tutting at Laura.
Thankfully, the next stop was hers. She swung her bag over her shoulder, avoiding the eyes of her fellow passengers, and hopped off the bus. ‘That idiot girl there,’ someone said as she left.
Laura walked briskly down the street, her heart racing, and turned off into Rathbone Place. Halfway down she slowed and leant briefly against some railings. This was all wrong, she thought to herself. She was supposed to get there calm and collected, she was going to be strong and cool (but yet devastatingly attractive), not some dishevelled sweaty heap, who arrived late for a summit meeting with her quasi-boyfriend having been suspended from her job the previous day. No, she was not that person. Not any more. She clenched her fists, stood up, and marched on her way, down the dark, grey street, pleasantly cool, away from the heat in the evening shade.
The Newman Pie Rooms was above a pub, the Newman Arms, tucked away off Oxford Street. It was one room, decked out in old-man’s-pub traditional style, with a few tables and a board on the wall announcing what pies were on offer that particular day. It was one of Laura’s favourite places – Dan had taken her there on one of their first evenings out together. It was a great hidden secret, and, more to the point, certainly not the kind of place you’d ever catch Amy in.
Laura’s legs shook slightly as she climbed the rickety twisted stairs, but she reminded herself once again that this choice of location for their summit meeting must be a good thing. Dan was reading the paper, but as he caught sight of her he leapt to his feet, folded it up and shoved it into his back pocket. He smiled at her, his eyes huge, drew her into his arms, kissed her and hugged her, tightly, for a long time.
‘Hello babe,’ he said, resting his forehead against hers. ‘How are you?’ He smoothed the hair away from her face, and tucked it behind her ear.
‘I’m fine,’ Laura replied, smiling back at him. She wound her arms round his neck. ‘I’m OK. Yeah, fine.’
‘Good,’ said Dan, looking over her shoulder. ‘Sorry…no, it’s fine. So you’re really OK? I missed you, baby. I really missed you.’ He pulled her down onto the bench next to him, and casually put her hand over his crotch.
Laura smiled at his cheek, still the same Dan as ever, and looked at the menu board. ‘Yep, I’m really OK,’ she said, pretending to ignore him, but moving a little closer.
The couple at the next table looked at her distastefully.
‘Perhaps I should move there,’ said Laura, pointing at the chair opposite.
‘No,’ Dan said, and kissed her ear gently. He whispered, ‘Please, I want you near me. Who knows when it might be next?’
‘Well,’ said Laura weakly, ‘that’s what we need to talk about, kind of, isn’t it?’
Dan was looking at the menu board this time and didn’t answer. He snaked his arm around Laura, and gently cupped one of her breasts. Laura wriggled with pleasure and nerves. This wasn’t going the way she’d anticipated. She leant into him, gave into it.
‘I missed you too.’
‘Hm?’ Dan said. ‘I’m having the lamb and mint pie, what about you?’
Food. A day spent at home mulling over her problems and failing to come up with solutions had not calmed Laura down one jot. It was twenty-eight degrees outside, more inside, and she was feeling fairly emotionally fraught. She had eaten very little that day, and had actually been sick before she came out. A lamb and mint pie was not really what she was in the mood for.
‘Um,’ she began, knotting and unknotting her hands in her lap. ‘I’m not that hungry, you know. I feel a bit funny. I might just have a salad.’
‘Really?’ Dan looked at her as if she was insane. ‘You’re OK, aren’t you?’
‘Yes…’ Laura said, beginning to be slightly irritated that the question kept