“Fliss.” Barnaby’s voice is suddenly harder and stops me in my tracks. “This has to stop.”
“What has to stop?” I stare at the speakerphone.
“The daily rant. I’m going to say something to you now, as an old friend. If you keep going on like this, you’ll drive everyone insane, including yourself. Shit happens, OK?”
“But—”
“It happens, Fliss.” He pauses. “And it doesn’t help to stir it up again and again. You need to move on. Get a life. Go on a date without mentioning your ex-husband’s underpants.”
“What are you talking about?” I say evasively.
“It was a date. A date.” I can hear Barnaby’s frustration bursting through the phone. “You were supposed to flirt with Nathan. Not open up your laptop and read out your entire divorce dossier.”
“I didn’t read out the entire thing!” I finger my memory stick defensively. “We were just talking, and I happened to mention it, and he seemed interested—”
“He wasn’t interested! He was being polite. Apparently you ranted for five solid minutes about Daniel’s underwear.”
“That’s a total exaggeration,” I retort hotly.
But my face has flamed. Maybe it was five minutes. I’d had a bit to drink by that stage. And there’s a lot to say about Daniel’s underwear, none of it good.
“Do you remember our first appointment, Fliss?” Barnaby continues relentlessly. “You said whatever you did, you wouldn’t end up bitter.”
I gasp at his use of the B-word. “I’m not. I’m … angry. Regretful.” I search my mind for further acceptable emotions. “I’m rueful. Sad. Philosophical.”
“The word Nathan used was ‘bitter.’ ”
“I’m not bitter!” I almost yell at him. “I think I would know if I was bitter or not!”
There’s silence at the other end. I’m breathing fast. My hands feel sweaty around the steering wheel. I’m flashing back to my date with Nathan. I thought I was talking about Daniel in an amusing, detached, ironic way. Nathan never said a word to indicate he wasn’t having a good time. Is that what everyone’s been doing? Humoring me?
“OK,” I say at last. “Well, now I know. Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Anytime.” Barnaby’s cheerful voice resounds through the car. “Before you say it, I am your friend. And I do love you lots. But this is what you need. Tough love, Fliss. I’ll talk to you soon.”
He rings off, and I signal left, chewing my bottom lip and glaring darkly at the road. It’s all very well. It’s all very well.
When I get to work, I can see my in-box is full, but I sit at my desk, staring blindly at my computer. Barnaby’s words have stung me more than I want to admit to myself. I’m turning into a bitter, twisted hag. I’m going to end up a gnarled old crone in a black hood who scowls at the world and battles her way along the street, hitting people with her stick and refusing to smile at the neighborhood children, who run away, terrified.
Worst-case scenario.
After a bit, I reach for the phone and call Lottie’s office number. Maybe we can buoy each other up.
The girl who answers is Dolly, Lottie’s junior.
“Oh, hi, Dolly,” I say. “Is Lottie about?”
“She’s out. Shopping. Don’t know when she’ll be back.”
Shopping? I blink at the phone in surprise. I know Lottie sometimes gets frustrated with her job, but to go out shopping and blatantly tell your junior is really not the way to go in this economic climate.
“Any idea when she’ll be back?”
“Dunno. She’s buying stuff for her honeymoon.”
I stiffen. Did I hear that right? Honeymoon? As in … honeymoon?
“Did you just say …” I swallow. “Dolly, is Lottie getting married?”
“Didn’t you know?”
“I’ve been away! This is … I’ve been …” I can hardly speak. “Oh my God! Please say I rang and congratulations!”
I put down the phone and beam elatedly around the empty office. My gloomy mood has vanished. I want to dance. Lottie’s engaged! It goes to show, some things in the world do go right in the end.
But, how?
How, how, how, how, how?
What happened? Did she fly out to San Francisco after all? Or did he fly back? Or did they call each other? What? I text her:
You’re engaged????????
I’m expecting radio silence again, but a moment later she replies.
Yes!!!! Was waiting to tell u all about it!
