“I just feel a bit odd, being back here,” I admitted. “I feel uncomfortable, as though the neighbors will notice I’m here and think I’ve come back.” I hesitated. Normally I would have given in and had a drink with him, but I just didn’t want to. I’ve always been a people-pleaser; it was time to change that. I liked Oliver, but I didn’t want to start seeing him on my own. “I’d better go.”

I had planned to drive home but suddenly I thought of driving to Harry’s house, just to sit outside on the off-chance I’d see him. It was like self-harm; I wanted to do it so badly, wanted that moment of release, even knowing the pain I’d feel. I turned the key in the ignition, when Oliver said, “You haven’t got over him, have you?”

“I have. I miss him, though.”

He hesitated. “I know it’s not my business, but he’d probably have you back if you asked him.”

I realized that we were completely at cross-purposes. “I meant Harry.”

“Who?”

“The guy . . . The guy I told you about.”

Oliver flushed red. “Oh, the someone special. Sorry, I thought we were talking about Tom.” He took a step back and said, “I’ll see you around, eh?”

I nodded and said good-bye. As I drove off I saw him standing watching after me and I thought of the repercussions of my leaving home and how many people had been hurt.

CHAPTER 44

Ruby

I got through that week at my temp job by daydreaming about my future. I’d scared myself at the weekend, the way I’d almost walked back into my old life with Tom. And then my response to that had been to stalk Harry. I had to stop this. I needed a completely fresh start. So I went onto automatic pilot, working fast while the women piled their filing onto my desk—yes, there’s still a way to go before the paperless office hits that particular company—and gave me their audio files to transcribe. As if at a distance, I heard them talk about buttock lifts and implants in their lips—how I longed for those procedures to go wrong—and moan about how hard they worked and how tired they were. On Friday they made their way through two tins of Quality Street that one of the managers had brought in without offering me one chocolate and my daydreams were quite violent by the end of the day.

I sent Sarah a message:

It’s Friday night and if I don’t go out tonight, I’ll go mad. Are you free?

It was an hour later and I thought I was going to have to go out on my own, before my phone pinged with a message:

McCullough’s at 8?

Before she could change her mind, I replied: I’ll be there.

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