Nina paused. Tears had been cascading down her face since she typed ‘Hi Alice’ and her throat felt swollen. This was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. She deleted the last line: (Why did you never check I was okay, Alice?) She was supposed to be begging forgiveness, not feeling sorry for herself. She took a deep breath, and continued:

And then, I don’t really know what happened. When I didn’t hear from you or Jules at first it was a relief. Because I could put off telling you. I wanted to tell you, that’s what you have to understand. I wanted to, but I was so, so afraid. And it affected my judgement. And now, I’m worried that I’ve left it too long, but I have to try.

Nina decided not to tell her about the baby or the abortion. She didn’t want Alice to think she was trying to elicit sympathy. Her fingers hovered above the keyboard, the light from the screen illuminating the café, which had dimmed into darkness.

I miss you Alice and I’m so, so sorry. I’ll do anything to put things right.

Please forgive me. If you can’t – if you don’t want me in your life any more – then I respect your decision. I won’t contact you again.

Love Nina x

PS – we’ll always have Paris.

*

Alice

Alice sat in her car after morning drop-off and stared at the email for a very long time. Then she deleted it, sniffed and checked her make-up in the mirror. The look she was aiming for was business-but-keep-it-creative: she was wearing a long pink-and-yellow leopard-print dress, knee-high leather boots and a blazer. As she drove into London, it zipped into her head intermittently: Ted had sex with Nina. Her husband slept with her best friend. It seemed impossible. How could it be true? But more and more was emerging about Ted that hadn’t seemed like it could be true, like the message she’d received from Sarah, a secretary at his work, explaining they’d been having an affair for a year before Ted had recently called it off. How could she have known so little about her own husband? And had Nina – and maybe Jules – known about the affair too? Is that another reason they hadn’t been in touch?

She parked and gazed down the street. Ordinarily, this row of houses in Notting Hill, painted in pastel tones of marshmallow, blossom and biscuit, made her soul sing, but today she saw only the grey sky, a weighty band of drizzle hovering above. The only positive about the email was its neutralising effect on her nerves. She couldn’t feel anything.

‘Alice?’ the woman said, opening the door. ‘Samantha. Please come in. Ashley speaks so enthusiastically about your work.’

Alice entered the beautiful Georgian house. It was light and airy, layered in different shades of cream and beige. She went through the motions, accepting a coffee and wincing when she noticed a shining bean-to-cup machine, pulling out her portfolio on the white kitchen counter.