No milk.
For an instant I feel like falling to the floor again and crying till nightfall. But instead I take a deep breath and lift my chin. Fine. I’ll go and buy some milk. And stock up generally. It’ll be good to get some fresh air and take my mind off things.
I pick up my Angel bag, slick on some lip gloss, and head out of the apartment. I walk briskly out the gates and down the street, past the weird shop with all the gold furniture, and into the delicatessen on the corner.
The moment I get inside I start to feel a bit more steady. It’s so warm and soothing in here, with the most delicious smell of coffee and cheese and whichever soup they’re cooking that day. All the assistants wear long striped ticking aprons, and look like they’re genuine French cheese-makers.
I pick up a wicker basket, head to the milk counter, and load in a couple of pints of organic semi-skimmed. Then my eye falls on a pot of luxury Greek yogurt. Maybe I’ll buy myself a few little treats to cheer myself up. I put the yogurt into my basket, along with some individual chocolate mousses. Then I reach for a gorgeous handblown glass jar of gourmet brandied cherries.
That’s a waste of money, a voice intones in my head. You don’t even like brandied cherries.
It sounds a bit like Jess’s. Weird. And anyway, I do like brandied cherries. Kind of.
I shake my head irritably and thrust the jar into my basket, then move along to the next display and reach for a mini olive-and-anchovy focaccia pizza.
Overpriced rubbish, comes the voice in my head. You could make it yourself at home for 20p.
Shut up, I retort mentally. No, I couldn’t. Go away.
I dump the pizza in my basket, then move along the displays more swiftly, putting in punnets of white peaches, miniature pears, several cheeses, dark chocolate truffles, a French strawberry gâteau…
But Jess’s voice is constantly in my head.
You’re throwing money away. What happened to the budget? You think indulging yourself like this will bring Luke back?
“Stop it!” I say aloud, feeling rattled. God, I’m going crazy. Defiantly I shove three tins of Russian caviar into my overflowing basket and stagger to the checkout. I drop the basket down on the counter and reach inside my bag for my credit card.
As the girl behind the till starts unloading all my stuff, she smiles at me.
“The gâteau’s delicious,” she says, carefully packing it into a box. “And so are the white peaches. And caviar!” She looks impressed. “Are you having a dinner party?”
“No!” I say, taken aback. “I’m not having a dinner party. I’m just… I’m…”
All of a sudden I feel like a fool. I look at my piles of stupid, overpriced food bleeping through the register and feel my face flame. What am I doing? What am I buying all this stuff for? I don’t need it. Jess is right.
Jess is right.
The very thought makes me wince. I don’t want to think about Jess.
But I can’t help it. I can’t escape the thoughts wheeling round in my head like big black crows. Out of nowhere I hear Luke’s voice. She’s a good person… she’s honest, reliable, and hardworking… you could learn a lot from your sister…
You could learn a lot from your sister.
And suddenly it hits me like a bolt of lightning. Oh my God. This is the answer.
“That’ll be a hundred and thirty pounds, seventy-three pence,” says the girl behind the checkout.
“I–I have to go,” I say. “Now.”
“But your food!” says the girl.
“I don’t need any of it.”
I turn and stumble out of the shop, still clutching my credit card in my hand. It’s all fallen into place. I must go and learn from Jess.
Like Yoda.
I’ll be her apprentice and she’ll teach me all her frugal ways. She’ll show me how to become a good person, the kind of person that Luke wants. And I’ll learn how to save my marriage.
She tried to help me before and I didn’t listen. But this time I’ll be grateful. I’ll pay attention to every word she says.
I start walking along the street more and more quickly, until I’m breaking into a run. I have to go to Cumbria. Right this minute.
I sprint all the way home, and up about three flights of stairs before I realize my lungs are nearly exploding and I’m never going to make it all the way up to the penthouse. Puffing like a steam engine, I sit down for a few minutes, then take the lift up the rest of the way. I burst into the apartment and run to the bedroom, where I pull a bright red leather suitcase out from under the bed and start throwing things randomly into it, like they do on the telly. A T-shirt… some underwear… a pair of turquoise pumps with diamanté buckles… I mean, it doesn’t matter what I take, does it? I just have to get up there and build bridges with Jess.