‘He’s going to Australia? He hasn’t said anything about that to me.’

‘He hasn’t told me either, but he is. His friend, Al, told me.’

‘Are you sure?’

I nod.

‘Well, you guys have been through worse.’

I scoff. ‘What have we been through that’s worse?’

Her eyes go back and forth, as though she’s actually flipping through the memories in her mind.

‘OK, maybe not worse, but you couldn’t not tell him how you feel. And so we’re clear – how do you feel?’

‘Right now? Ashamed. And I blame you for the mess I’m in. It was your stupid advice that made me think it would be OK to go over to his house.’

‘Do not blame me for this.’

‘You were the one who told me to get drunk and shag him!’

‘I would never say anything so crass.’

She is infuriating.

‘Ugh. I can’t believe he pushed me away and I just kept at it.’

‘You’re always so plagued with self-doubt. He probably pushed you away because he was trying to be a gentleman.’

‘I really wish that the flashbacks would stop. Every now and then I’ll be doing something really inane, totally content in my own head, and then WHAM!’ I hear myself asking him to kiss me, and I feel his lips on mine.

I rub my head, trying to get rid of the ache that has appeared there.

And now, the thing that’s making me most sad is also the thing that’s giving me the most hope. Once he’s in Australia, I won’t have to worry about facing him, but it also means he’ll be gone. Mia reaches over and hugs me.

‘It was definitely not my finest moment.’

‘No, but not your worst either.’

I can’t help but smile. ‘No, probably not.’

CHAPTER 40

The headache that formed on Games Night hasn’t left me. Peter has kept totally schtum, and as a result my anxiety and worry have skyrocketed.

And to top it off, Michelle’s Christmas pop-up is upon me.

I’m weirdly nervous about seeing Michelle again. I’m hopeful (and worried) about how my cards will sell, but more than that I want to make a good impression on her. I’m very aware that trying to make a name for yourself in a completely different industry comes with all the same political issues you find in any office job, possibly more so in the independent crafting business. I have a sneaky suspicion that crafters (who are essentially scissor-wielding folk who have gone slightly stir-crazy from being left at home alone for too long) are particularly sensitive.

I see Michelle, who is wielding a clipboard, and head over with my two boxes. This time I’ve only had to bring cards and the succulent, for luck. As my cards are part of Michelle’s shop, I don’t have a whole stall to dress, only a display. The taxi ride went off without a hitch.

‘Michelle! Hi.’ I hope she recognizes me. ‘I come bearing cards.’ If she hasn’t this should prompt her memory. ‘Where would you like them?’ I ended up bringing more than she asked for, but it turns out that trying to forget about Peter makes me very productive.