“Wow.” I’m almost speechless. “Noah. You’re here. At my office. That’s just … Daniel?” I turn to my ex-husband, who is standing by the window, flicking through a past issue of the magazine. “What’s going on? I thought Noah would be having tea by now? At your place?” I add with bright emphasis. “As we planned?”
“But I’m not,” puts in Noah triumphantly.
“Yes! I can see that, darling! So … Daniel?” My smile has spread right across my face. Generally the rule is: the more I smile at Daniel, the more I’m feeling like stabbing him.
I can’t help surveying his features with a critical eye, even though he has nothing to do with me anymore. He’s gained a couple of pounds. New fine-stripe shirt. No hair product. That’s a mistake; his hair looks too floppy and wispy now. Maybe Trudy likes it that way.
“Daniel?” I try again.
Daniel says nothing, just shrugs easily, as though everything is obvious and words are superfluous. That shrug of his is new. It’s a post-me shrug. When we were together, his shoulders were permanently hunched. Now he shrugs. He wears a Kabbalah bracelet under his suit. He bounces confrontation back like he’s made of rubber. His sense of humor has been replaced by a sense of righteousness. He doesn’t joke anymore: he pronounces.
I can’t believe we used to have sex. I can’t believe we produced Noah together. Maybe I’m in The Matrix and I’ll wake up to something which makes far more sense, like all this time I’ve been lying in a tank attached to electrodes.
“Daniel?” My smile is fixed.
“We agreed Noah would spend tonight with you.” He shrugs again.
“What?” I stare at him, dumbfounded. “No, we didn’t. It’s your night.”
“I have to go to Frankfurt tonight. I sent you an email.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did.”
“You didn’t! You did not send me any email.”
“We agreed I’d drop Noah here.”
He’s totally calm, as only Daniel can be. I, on the other hand, am about to have a nervous breakdown.
“Daniel.” My voice is trembling with the effort of not smashing his head in. “Why would I have agreed to have Noah here tonight when I’m hosting an awards ceremony? Why would I have done that?”
Daniel shrugs again. “I’m about to go to the airport. He’s had something to eat. Here’s his overnight bag.” He dumps Noah’s rucksack on the floor. “All right, Noah? Mummy’s going to have you tonight, lucky thing.”
There is no way out of this.
“Great!” I smile at Noah, who is eyeing the two of us anxiously. It breaks my heart to see worry in his huge eyes. No child of his age should ever worry about anything. “What a treat for me!” I ruffle his hair reassuringly. “Excuse me, I’ll just be a moment.…”
I walk along the corridor to the Ladies’. It’s empty, which is a good thing, because I cannot contain myself any longer.
“HE DID NOT SEND ME A FUCKING EMAIL!” My voice rockets round the cubicles. I’m panting as I meet my own eyes in the mirror. I feel about ten percent better. Enough to get through the evening.
I walk calmly back to the office, to see Daniel shrugging on his coat.
“Well, have a good trip or whatever.” I sit down, unscrew my fountain pen, and write Congratulations! on the card for the bouquet which will be presented to the overall winner (that new spa–resort in Marrakesh). With best wishes from Felicity Graveney and all the team.
Daniel is still in my office. I can sense him lurking. He has something to say.
“You still here?” I lift my eyes.
“Just one other thing.” He surveys me with that righteous expression again. “I’ve got a couple more points to raise over the settlement.”
For a moment I’m so stunned I can’t react.
“Wha-at?” I manage to utter at last.
He cannot raise more points. We’ve finished raising points. We’re about to sign off. It’s done. After a court case and two appeals and a million lawyers’ letters. It’s finished.
“I was talking it over with Trudy.” He does his hand-spreading again. “She raised some interesting issues.”
No way. I want to thwack him. He does not get to talk about our divorce with Trudy. It’s ours. If Trudy wants a divorce, she can marry him first. See how she likes that.
“Just a couple of points.” He puts a wad of papers down on the desk. “Have a read.”
Have a read. As though he’s recommending a good whodunit.
