‘Hi,’ I start, feeling weirdly nervous. ‘It’s me . . . Naomi. Erm, listen, about last night, I’m sorry that it ended up like it did. I think the alcohol played a large part.’

I clench my fist and knock my forehead in frustration. That’s not what I meant to say.

‘Anyway,’ I go on. ‘I hope we can wipe the slate clean and put it all behind us. I’ll see you tomorrow, but if you hear from Vanessa in the meantime, call me.’ Shit. That’s not what I meant to say either.

‘So, I’ll see you tomorrow then,’ I say, repeating myself. I put the phone down before I make any more of a hash of it. That was a bad idea.

8

As expected, my appointments all over-run and it’s gone six thirty by the time I lock up the office. I’m about to ask Leon if he fancies getting a takeaway, but he’s already dishing up meatloaf. The one I’d started last night and hastily abandoned when Jacob called me in a panic. I can’t remember where I got to before leaving – had I already put the eggs in? The sage?

I know, for sure, that I must have left an almighty mess behind me; there would have been breadcrumbs all over the worktop and ground mince coated in the gloopy slime of an egg white. I hadn’t even noticed that it had all been put away when I got in last night. If I had, I would have realized a lot sooner that Leon was home and saved myself untold stress. Unless, of course, my over-active imagination would have had Vanessa putting the meatloaf in the oven and tidying the kitchen before she killed me.

‘Well, this is nice,’ I say, smiling, trying to deflect what I know is coming next. ‘It’s not quite my mom’s, but it’s not half bad.’

‘You’d already done most of it,’ he says, looking at me. I’ve walked straight into this one. ‘Though it looked like a crime scene when I got in.’

I go to tell him that’s too near the truth to be funny, but think better of it.

‘So what was the rush to go out for a drive?’ he says as he puts a loaded fork into his mouth.

I’ve suddenly lost my appetite, but refrain from pushing my plate away.

I wonder how he would react if I told him that I’d dropped everything to go and meet Jacob. I’d like to be able to tell him, and perhaps even laugh about the turn of events that had left me feeling horribly exposed yesterday.

‘I’m probably not going to do myself any favours here,’ I say, still undecided where I’m going with this.