If we thought then that Oliver would play along, assist us in our sordid plans for a weekend tryst, how badly we were mistaken. The first inkling about his intentions came as James and I were preparing to leave the hotel room when the phone rang. It was James' wife and from the end of the bed, I listened to the one-sided conversation.

‘Yes, the conference went well. A bit boring but aren’t they always? Did you have fun at your mother’s? When did you get back?’ Vague, breezy and controlled, that was James. ‘Oliver? From the gallery? Did he say what he wanted?’

I held my breath, scared to look at James’s expression.

‘No problem. I’ll call him when I get back.’ My companion had paled and I knew then it was time for us to call it a day.

29

Rebecca

My flat was eerily quiet when I put the key in the lock. There was no one around. It was about 7pm and the alarm which beeped on entry gave me small comfort. It reminded me of Oliver.

Everything about my bijou space felt sad and lonely, untouched, unloved. Perhaps it was time to move on. I unpacked my overnight bag and found a strange solace in the silence. The weekend had provided a temporary distraction, nothing more.

Later I soaked in a warm foamy bath and realised I must be making progress in rebuilding my life. It dawned on me that I hadn’t bothered to check the answerphone. Perhaps I realised Mitch wasn’t coming back. I had placed candles round the room which flickered in the gloaming. I closed my eyes, breathed deeply and luxuriated in the solitude.

The warm soapy water cleansed away the remnants of my deceit as well as the bodily fluids which belonged to someone else’s partner. I wondered if I might have been more obsessive in my relationship with James if he hadn’t been so keen. With a click of my fingers he would be there but this led me to be more critical. James had fed my ego and now I felt disappointment, rather than sadness, that I wasn’t desperate to make another date in the diary. The fact he was cheating on his wife, with no apparent guilt, made criticism easier. I knew there was no future with James.

The phone rang and broke my reverie. It rang twice. I climbed out of the bath, wiped off the suds, wrapped a towel round my wet hair, and wandered through to the lounge. There were four messages flashing up on the answering machine.

‘Hi. It’s your mum. Just wondering where you are as we haven’t heard from you. Are you still alive?’ The question, with a touch of sarcasm, was accusing.

A silent click. My heart skipped. Perhaps.

I shivered as I played the next message.