Girls Night Out 3 E-Book Bundle. Gemma Burgess
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is easy!
‘No,’ I mutter. ‘I need to get out of here, soon. Let’s get drunk.’
‘Abigail,’ says a deep voice, and I look up to see Joe, Peter’s brother, walking towards me. Fuck.
‘Joe . . . hi,’ I say, all thoughts of Robert forgotten.
‘I’m just coming over to tell you that I’m not going to sit opposite you for three minutes, so you’re saved,’ he says.
‘Fine,’ I say.
‘What an asshat,’ says Robert in my ear.
Joe nods and gives me a look of utter disdain.
‘I didn’t do anything wrong, you know,’ I say involuntarily.
‘What?’ says Robert.
‘What?’ says Joe.
‘I didn’t do anything wrong. With Peter. I broke up with him, but I didn’t hurt him and he’s fine, he’s totally fine, right?’ I stammer hopefully.
‘I’m not telling you how my brother has been since you walked out on him, without so much as a backward glance,’ he says, every word dripping with contempt. ‘But I want you to know something. He had an affair. Two years ago. With a girl he worked with. He ended it because he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting a girl like you, even though he loved her. And she’s with him in Thailand now.’
‘Fuck off,’ says Robert.
‘Fuck off,’ I repeat, and immediately clap my hand over my mouth. I didn’t mean to repeat that, it just came straight out because I was too shocked to process what I was saying. I stand up, my eyes filling with tears. Peter had an affair. And Joe hates me enough to tell me.
‘I, uh, I, uh, I’m going d-d-downstairs,’ I stammer, picking up my bag and wine and hurrying past Joe.
‘See ya,’ he says.
I stumble down the stairs, trying to stop the tears that are welling up in my eyes.
‘Abby? Are you OK? Abby? Say something . . . Do you want me to come down there and punch that guy?’
‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ I say, stalking through the bar to the front door, ripping out the earpiece as I go. ‘I’m hanging up. I’m having a fag.’
‘But you don’t smoke—’ says Robert, as I pull the earpiece out. Peter had an affair. At the same time that I was trying to ignore the fact that I felt like something wasn’t right, like the relationship was missing something, but thinking that I should do my best and keep trying and above all not hurt him because I was responsible for his happiness, he was banging someone else on the side. How stupid I must be. When I broke up with him he looked at me with his sweet, sad face and said ‘I’ll always love you, no matter what. Even if we’re not together.’ God, he must have thought I was so gullible. Just think! All that worry and uncertainty, the guilt about leaving a man who I thought was so fundamentally good and decent . . . who cheated on me. And Joe thinks I should feel bad because he didn’t want to hurt me? Why not just leave me?
What a fucking liar.
Maybe Plum was right. There are no good men. Only different degrees of bad ones.
I only smoke when I’m stressed and I am really, definitely stressed now. With trembling hands I put the coins into the cigarette machine, beg a lighter off the bartender, tear open the pack and am outside lighting up within 60 seconds.
Just as I exhale, and take a huge slug of wine, my own phone rings. It’s Robert again.
‘Abby, are you OK?’ says Robert, when I finally answer.
‘Yes,’ I say, my voice high and quivery.
‘Are you crying?’
‘No,’ I lie, as another tear escapes out the corner of my eye. ‘I’m just, I don’t know, in shock. Joe has a nasty vindictive streak . . . And he never liked me. Peter took me on a family skiing holiday the first year we were together and Joe hated it . . .’ I take a shaky drag. ‘Can you believe Peter had an affair?’
‘No,’ says Robert. ‘He’s clearly an asshat, too. And Joe probably fancied you.’
‘Yeah,’ I say, laughing and blotting tears with a tissue. ‘I wonder who she is?’
I suddenly remember a girl in his team at work, a sporty type I always thought was odd; she stared at me a lot but never started any conversations. I mentioned to Peter, after his work Christmas drinks one year, that I thought she was weird. He jumped to her defence, saying that she was just very shy. ‘I know who it is,’ I say now. ‘I mean, I know who she is. I’m sure it’s her.’
‘I wouldn’t waste any time thinking about it,’ says Robert.
‘I wonder how long it went on for,’ I say. ‘And how it started. And it ended. And how often he lied to me . . .’
‘Abby, darling, you’ll never get the answers you want,’ says Robert. ‘It will just torture you. You left him. You ended it, you walked away and you were loyal while you were with him.’
‘Yes,’ I say uncertainly.
‘So forget about it. Otherwise it will drive you crazy. Trust me,’ says Robert. I suddenly think about him and Louisa, and how the man she’d cheated on him with is now her husband.
‘What an asshat,’ I say.
‘Yes,’ says Robert. ‘He is.’
There’s a pause. Actually, I meant Louisa, I want to say, but don’t.
‘Thanks for calling back,’ I say.
‘Anytime.’
‘And helping me survive tonight. I feel like you’re my therapist sometimes.’
‘That’s what friends are for.’
‘Actually, that’s what best friends are for. You just got a promotion.’
‘Lucky me. And you didn’t even need me. Not really. You could have handled all of that on your own.’
‘Yeah, but our way was fun.’
There is silence for a few minutes. I take another sip of wine and hear Robert taking another sip of his. It’s oddly comforting.
‘I told you speed dating sucked,’ he says finally, and I start laughing despite myself. Fuck Peter. I am bulletproof.
‘Are you OK? What the hell happened with Joe? Let’s get out of here!’ exclaims Plum, bursting out of the pub and onto the pavement. ‘Can I have my phone back? Like, six guys want to ask me out! I’m saying no, of course. My heart belongs to Dan.’
‘Plum’s here,’ I tell Robert.
‘Good. I’m late to meet your sister and Luke for a house-warming party. Why don’t you come and join us?’ he says.
‘Maybe later, I have to talk to my homeboys,’ I hang up and turn to Plum, who is having trouble lighting a cigarette through the ecstatic smile on her face. See what I meant about the victori ous circle of self-assurance?
‘Hey chicks,’ says Henry, following her out with Charlotte by his side. ‘Would you stop running off and leaving us alone? You’re giving us a complex. That was shit, by the way. I don’t know why I let you talk me into it.’
‘Let’s get out of here,’ I say. ‘Anyone want to go for a few drinks? My shout.’
Speed dating left us all with post-traumatic euphoria. We found a new bar around the corner, took over a table and started to tell dating stories. Plum and I pressed olives in our cheeks and did our Stockard Channing imitations, Henry told a story about