Max’s words popped into Norah’s mind. I always thought Alex was the one. Then she thought of the conversation she’d had with Sandra after leaving Alex. Sandra had been appalled at the news.

‘We just don’t have the same values,’ Norah had said. ‘Sometimes it feels as if he doesn’t give a fuck about the things that really matter to me.’

‘He spends hours every day saving people’s lives,’ Sandra replied. ‘Maybe he’s just too tired.’

‘He should have stood by me.’

‘You’re always so severe,’ Sandra said. ‘Okay, so he didn’t react the way you wanted him to, but that’s no reason to get up on your high horse. You can’t leave a man like Alex for something as petty as that.’

‘Petty?’

‘Yes, petty.’

For a moment neither of them spoke. Then Sandra said, ‘I’m on your side, Norah. You know I am. But I don’t always understand you. I thought Alex was good for you. I thought he was Mr Right.’

Should she have listened to her friends? Had she made a mistake?

Whatever, she thought, trying to concentrate on her work. It made no difference now anyway; that door was closed.

It was good to be back at the office. While her colleagues moaned about having to start work again and were probably secretly longing for Friday, Norah was glad not to be left alone with herself any more.

She rang Tanja to arrange something for the evening, but Tanja hung up on her. Maybe she was in a meeting.

Just before leaving the office Norah glanced at her phone for the hundredth time that day. There was a text from Tanja. She smiled and opened it.

Dear Norah, things are pretty hectic at work just now, as you know. I don’t have the energy for anything else at the moment. T.

Norah read the message twice and her smile faded. It didn’t sound anything like Tanja, whose texts were always full of endearments and superlatives and typos. Norah wrote back.

Are you OK? Has anything happened? You’ll let me know if there’s something I can do, won’t you?

No answer. Oh well. Looked as if someone was having a bad week—she knew all about that.

18

In the past, Norah had often longed to be alone. In her teenage years, when her mother bombarded her with annoying questions. At work, when stress levels soared and she thought how wonderful it would be to have a remote control that put the world on mute. Or when Alex had wanted more intimacy than she could give and she’d caught herself thinking wistfully how nice and quiet it had been when she’d had a flat to herself.

Be careful what you wish for.

Norah stood at the window, smoking, and the silence clenched into a fist behind her.

She’d asked for leave to work from home because she was having furniture delivered.

The evening before, she’d sent Max an email when she hadn’t got through on the phone: Feel like doing something tomorrow evening? All work and no play makes Norah a dull girl.