“I bet he is! What’s he like?”
“Oh, you know. Gorgeous. Dark hair. Tattoo,” I add, with a little grin.
There. That’s vague enough. It could be anyone.
“A tattoo!” Flora’s eyes widen. “Wow. And where did you meet him?”
“Through other people,” I say vaguely. “You know. It was a bit random.”
“So, has anything happened?” She makes such a comical face that I laugh again.
“Nothing real. Just flirting. Wishing,” I add, with sudden honesty. “And what about you?”
“Well, I’m supposed to be seeing this guy called Ant, only I think he’s going off me.” She looks disconsolate. “He never replies to my texts….”
“They don’t.”
“I know, right? What’s so hard about sending a text?”
“They think sending a text makes them lose part of their soul,” I say, and Flora giggles.
“You’re funny,” she says, and links her arm in mine. “I’m so glad you’ve joined the office, Cat.”
We walk on for a few seconds, and I take a photo of a stall selling only vintage car horns. Then Flora turns to me, looking thoughtful.
“Listen, Cat, there’s something I need to ask you. Did you know we meet for regular drinks at Wednesday lunchtime? Me, Rosa, and Sarah. At the Blue Bear. Every week.”
“Oh, right. No, I didn’t know.”
“Well, we keep it a bit quiet. We don’t want Demeter gate-crashing.” Flora pulls a face. “Can you imagine?”
“Ah.” I nod. “I get that.”
“So the point is, this isn’t an open thing. It’s like…” She hesitates. “It’s like a gang. A club. A special little club.”
“Right.”
“And I’m asking you to join the club.” She squeezes my arm. “What about it? Are you in?”
I feel a joyful little surge inside. A gang. A club. I hadn’t realized quite how lonely I was feeling.
“Definitely!” I say with a huge beam. “Count me in!”
I’ll have to adjust my budget if I’m going to start buying rounds every Wednesday, but it will so be worth it.
“Cool! We’ll start again after Christmas. I’ll let you know. Only don’t tell Demeter.”
“OK! I promise!” I’m about to ask where the Blue Bear is, when Flora gives a loud shriek.
“Oh my God!”
“Babe.” A tall, dark-haired guy in a trilby has appeared from nowhere and has wrapped his arms round Flora from behind. “Your mum said you were here.”
“I’ve been texting you!” says Flora accusingly. “You should have texted.”
The guy shrugs, and Flora pushes him and giggles, and I’m wondering whether I should slip away, when Flora grabs my arm and says, “This is Cat. Cat, this is Ant.” She pouts charmingly up at him. “And since you’ve been such a nightmare, Ant, lunch is on you.”
Ant rolls his eyes with good humor, and I hurriedly say, “Actually, I’ll be going.”
“No, come with us!” Flora links arms with both Ant and me and drags us across the road to the Butterfly Bakery, which I’ve read about in a zillion blogs. It’s all pink and white stripes, and there are paper butterflies hanging everywhere from the ceiling. The customers color them in with felt-tips. It’s, like, the gimmick.
We hang up our coats on white wooden hooks by the door, then Flora grabs a floral-printed tray for each of us and bossily starts dumping items on them. “OK, these pumpkin muffins are yummy. And the flapjack hearts are great…and we should get a salad each…and this ginger cordial is amazing….” She loads up each tray, then announces, “Ant, you get in the queue. We’re going to nab a table. C’mon, Cat.”
She leads me across the room to an alcove where a couple are just getting up from their lunch and high-fives me as we slide into our seats.
“Result! This place gets sooo crowded.” Flora pulls out her sequined dress and looks at it lovingly. “So, what are you wearing to the Christmas party?”
“Little black dress,” I say. “Tried and tested.”
Flora nods. “Good choice. Last year, Demeter wore such a short dress, you could practically see her Spanx,” she adds disparagingly. “Who’s she kidding? I mean, just because you have a toyboy, it doesn’t mean you’re suddenly, like, twenty years younger. She’s such a crone. Here, I’ll show you a picture of what she looked like.”
“Toyboy?” I say with interest.
“You know.” Flora’s busily flicking through photos on her phone. “Alex Astalis.”
It takes a moment for the words to imprint on my mind.
“Alex Astalis?” I echo stupidly.
“That guy you met.”
“You mean…”
“Demeter and Alex? Oh God, yes.” Flora nods. “They’ve been having a totally un-secret affair, like, forever.”
My throat has clenched up. I can barely speak.
“How…how do you know?” I manage at last.
“Everyone does,” she says, as though in surprise. “You know Demeter was Alex’s boss, years ago? Well, apparently the chemistry between them was sizzling. Mark told me. He knew them then. And now Alex is Demeter’s boss. It’s weird, isn’t it?”
I nod dumbly. I’m picturing a youthful Demeter…a fresh-faced Alex…sizzling chemistry….
I think I’m back into bad-dream land.
“Demeter was married, even then,” Flora carries on. “But I guess she didn’t want to break that up or whatever….Anyway, that’s why she came to Cooper Clemmow. Alex went into partnership with Adrian and straightaway he headhunted her. So unsubtle. Look, here she is. Doesn’t she look vile?”
She hands me her phone, showing a photo of Demeter in a minidress, standing by an ice sculpture, but I can barely see it. I feel a bit cold. And deflated. And above all, incredibly stupid. It’s so obvious now. I can see them together. Both lithe. Both intelligent. Both at the top of their game. Of course they’re lovers.
It suddenly hits me: That’s why they’re both in Copenhagen. I can see them now, in a Scandi hotel room, having sex in some amazing athletic position that nobody else does except Demeter, because she’s the first person on the whole planet to have found out about it.
I’m still holding Flora’s phone, staring blindly down, my thoughts scudding around. Demeter really has it all, doesn’t she? She bloody has it all. The job, the house, the husband, the children, the fashionable paint shades—and Alex. Because obviously when you’re Demeter, a devoted husband isn’t enough. You need a lover too. A sexy, authentic, organic lover.
But…what about me?
My mind keeps torturing me, replaying those little moments I had with Alex. The way he smiled…the way he gently fixed my hair…glancing over as we pedaled along…I didn’t make it up. There was something; we did have a spark….
But what’s a spark with me when you’ve got a sizzling inferno going on with the goddess of sex, or whatever she is? I was just a diversion. I suddenly recall him after the Santa ride, scrutinizing his phone, saying, “I just need to text…them.”
He didn’t want to say “text her.” He was being discreet. But that’s who he meant.
“Hasn’t her husband guessed?” I try to sound like this is all breezy office gossip.
“I doubt it.” Flora shrugs. “She’s really good at lying….Oh, Ant!”
“Here we go.” Ant dumps two trays on the table. One is Flora’s, with her muffin, salad, and all the rest of it. The other has a bowl of soup. “Yours is up there.” He nods at me. “They’ve put it aside for you to pay.”
Me to pay?
All thoughts of Alex are swept aside and I stare up, feeling a bit hollow. I thought…
“Ant, you brute!” Flora pushes him. “You should have paid! Now Cat will have to queue.”