‘Yes?’ she blubbed.

‘It’s Denise on reception. Your lawyer’s here. Are you—?’

‘Send her up,’ Meagan whimpered.

She ended the call and rolled onto her back.

Chapter 43

Simi

Simi piled up the remainder of her belongings in Jemima’s hallway and she stared wistfully at her tiny tower of things. Had it really been seven weeks since she’d moved out of Oscar’s place? And now she was moving again. This time it was into Alice’s Norwood flat on the dreaded south side of the river. Just days ago, the thought of living so far from the girls had been unthinkable. Now, it didn’t matter. Simi checked her watch. Her cab was due at quarter past giving her ten long minutes to decide what kind of farewell Jemima deserved. When she’d been packing earlier, she’d felt so incensed, an apartment-shuddering door slam was all she could have managed. Now her departure loomed, however, a curt ‘bye’ from the other side of Jemima’s closed bedroom door, seemed only fair.

Simi looked around the living room, her home for almost two months. Without her clutter, it was decidedly neater. Simi felt pangs of guilt at Jemima’s generous hospitality. She owed her a thank-you for that, at the very minimum. Unless, thought Simi, as a creeping suspicion gathered momentum, Jemima let her stay so she could harvest intel? Two months’ rent was a small price to pay for such priceless data. Simi stomped towards Jemima’s bedroom door, thumping hard. She listened to her move across the room. When the door finally opened, Simi stopped. Jemima’s eyes were puffy and drained, her body slumped. Simi wanted to hug her and tell her everything was going to be alright. She wanted to stroke her ashen face and reassure her that before she knew it they’d be sipping cocktails at Ripley’s like none of this had happened. She wanted to say all that. But she couldn’t. She was still so, so hurt.

‘Did you want me to stay here so you could get more stories?’

‘Of course not,’ said Jemima visibly crumbling.

‘Hmm.’ Simi nodded, studying Jemima’s earnest expression.

What she had done was unspeakable but even Simi knew she wasn’t that underhand.

‘Can I help you with your things?’ said Jemima.

‘I can manage,’ Simi said, more brusque than she’d intended.

As tough as it was seeing Jemima unravelling, Simi still couldn’t access the warmth and love she’d always had for her. Was it gone forever? She didn’t know. Forgiveness was certainly a long way off. They’d bickered in the past, even fallen out for a few days but nothing like this had ever happened and the sense of loss was numbing. Good girlfriends were so hard to find, friends with whom you could be totally you, who would love you no matter how ridiculous the things you did, said, loved or wanted. Why had Jemima done this to them all?

‘I know what it is. You think I’m a wally, a soft touch. That’s why you thought it would be okay.’