‘Bet he’s forgotten his bloody keys.’ Lotte jumps down from the countertop, padding out of the kitchen.
Abi silently prays that Lotte is right, that it is Richard or another delivery person, but her veins shrink as she hears Lotte squeal, ‘Sebbo!’
She’s not ready, not at all, so she closes her eyes, listens in darkness as Lotte and Seb talk, their voices indecipherable murmurs. His voice, the brutal unfairness of the whole thing, makes her grab the side of the sink and kick, hard, against one of the new units. She hasn’t, she tells herself, strictly done anything wrong, she hasn’t hurt or betrayed anyone, and yet, and yet …
Their voices are getting louder now, they’re coming for her, and she remembers her golden rule. Don’t let him see that you’re scared.
The swing doors to the kitchen open and Lotte’s soprano sing-songs, ‘Abi! Sebbo needs to have a word about school.’
She is ready.
Abi walks, wiping her hands on her apron, into the main restaurant. It’s bright compared to the cool, dark cave of the kitchen. Lotte is talking, something about being sent burgundy aprons instead of the magenta she ordered, but Abi hardly notices because there, fragile as a reed, is the man who with just a word could destroy her new life in Waverly. Their eyes meet and she settles a little because she knows he doesn’t have the strength to break her – not today, anyway.
‘Hello, Seb.’ Her voice is clear.
He twitches at the sound of his name on her lips. ‘Hi, Abi, sorry to disturb you at work, but I thought it best to discuss the matter I mentioned without the children around.’ He’s practised his lines and looks nauseous now that showtime has arrived.
Something through the window catches Lotte’s attention. ‘Oh shit, is that a traffic warden?’ She’s spotted a man in high vis, standing perilously close to her car. ‘Shit!’ she screams again before flying out of the door towards the warden.
The sound of the door banging closed seems to wake Seb up. When he meets Abi’s stare, his eyes have changed; now they’re full of anger. Welcome, Abi thinks, to my world.
‘What the fuck were you doing, Abi?’ He moves closer to her, saying her name like she repulses him. ‘In my fucking house? What is this? Some fucked-up bunny-boiler stunt?’
She hates him, then – hates him from the very root of her being.
‘Trust me, Mr Kent, this is just as uncomfortable for me as it is for you.’
He shakes his head, looks like he wants to rip hers from her shoulders, but his voice quakes. ‘I doubt that. I doubt that very much.’
Abi is careful to keep looking straight at him as she says, ‘Look, I had no idea you lived in Waverly, no idea you were Rosie’s husband.’
‘Bullshit.’
Rage takes her then, shakes her body and pushes her in the last direction her fear wants to move: even closer to him. ‘You piece of shit. I have just as much right to be here as you.’
‘Why the hell are you here?’ he demands, tiny flecks of spit exploding from his mouth.
‘Because this insanely privileged fucking bubble of a town is my chance to change my life. Waverly happens to be the best opportunity for my kids to live somewhere beautiful. Where people bitch about slugs in their allotments and their biggest issues are dog shit and potholes. OK?’
He looks startled, appalled perhaps that she is a person with a life, responsibilities, desires. He starts breathing quicker then, hyperventilating, heaving around his words. ‘I have children, too. A wife. God. I could lose everything.’
Abi stands back as he bends forward, hands on his knees, his breath coming in painful-sounding gasps. She watches him fight to control his breathing. When he looks up, there’s sweat on his brow, spittle at the corners of his mouth; his face has turned an unnatural red, just a shade lighter than the scar on his upper lip, the scar that had given him away in Rosie and Seb’s warm kitchen. Abi is worried he’ll need an ambulance if he doesn’t calm down. She pulls out the nearest dining chair.
‘Sit,’ she says, ‘for God’s sake.’
He does as he’s told, elbows on knees, starts sobbing into his hands, making a quiet choking sound. Abi glances out of the window to where Lotte is now shrieking at the poor traffic warden. They still have a couple of minutes. Abi turns back to Seb coming undone in front of her, wishes she could simply leave him here, walk away. But the rubble of his life is now mixed up with the rubble of hers. She has to stay.
‘Listen, Seb,’ she says as clearly as she can, ‘I haven’t come to Waverly because you’re here. I have no interest in hurting you. I’m not going to blackmail you or cause any trouble for you or your family. What happened between us was … well, it’s in the past.’
He looks up at her, his eyes swollen and raw. ‘What do you want, then?’
‘Like I said, I just want the same as everyone else. The opportunity to change my life. To be someone else.’
Listening to herself, she realizes how badly she wants to be here, to be part of something. It is only now, living in Waverly, that she appreciates how painful life was in London, always on the periphery.
‘I tried your phone – your old number,’ Seb says weakly.
‘I don’t use that number any more.’
‘So, you’ve totally changed?’
She wants to scream at him. But she knows she can’t. Not here, not in the fresh Waverly air, not with him in the clothes where he probably has a snack for his kids in the coat pocket, or when he can still feel the press of Rosie’s mouth on his cheek.
Abi knows better than to say ‘never’, so instead she shrugs and asks, ‘You?’
Seb stares at her, grinds his jaw. He swallows and says, like it absolves him of everything, ‘I love my wife.’
Abi doesn’t point out that that wasn’t what she asked.
He looks at her, brow furrowed, disgust twisting his mouth. It’s a look Abi knows well. Revulsion. Still, she’ll just about take it over pity. ‘Don’t you dare look at me like that.’
Seb hangs his head again and says, ‘Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. All I want is to understand why you’re here. What it means. Obviously, no one knows.’ He glances again at her, hoping she’ll let him off, but she won’t. She’s been letting men off for years. She stares at him to make him keep talking and he does, but so quietly she can barely hear.
‘No one knows about us.’
‘Same here.’
He looks at her, startled. ‘What about your friends, your family?’
She could tell him the truth: that her only friends are her kids and an unpredictable Mexican chef who is also now her boss, and that her mum, still living on the estate where Abi grew up, hasn’t spoken to her for years. But she won’t tell him any of it because there’s already sorrow rippling across his brow and the truth would probably tip him over the edge. Just because she can cope with her story doesn’t mean other people can.
She just shakes her head.
‘Why are you here – in Waverly, I mean?’ he asks again.
She motions to the restaurant. ‘Like I said, for the opportunity. For my girls. For all of us. It was just time for me to move on. Just like you.’
He nods slowly, taking it in, taking the time to process the startling fact that she is just, well, ordinary.
‘What did you tell Rosie?’
He breathes out quickly and for a moment Abi thinks he’s going to start hyperventilating again, but he manages to keep himself steady. ‘I told her I had a migraine, that I had to lie down.’
‘She believed you?’ Abi knows the answer; Rosie isn’t stupid. Seb shakes his head.
‘After you left, she knew something was off. She asked if I knew you. I told her there was an issue with your daughter at school – a confidential thing – that you’d had a disagreement with one of the teachers and, well, that we’d had an awkward email exchange.’