Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
‘Oh, that would be lovely. Are you sure? I don’t want to keep you.’
I laugh a little. ‘Trust me, there’s nothing you’re keeping me from.’ I link arms with her and we walk out onto the street, heading for the café up the road. ‘I’m sorry about your break-up.’
‘Don’t be. I’m best rid of him.’ Zara smiles, though I sense a perpetual sadness lingering deep in her blue eyes. It’s a sadness she’s trying to hide from the world, and I can relate to that. I’m devastated that I can’t find what I’m desperately looking for, and it’s hard to keep my devastation from showing and tearing Jesse down, too. ‘The relationship was violent.’ She shrugs, like it’s nothing.
‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry.’
‘What doesn’t break you makes you stronger. That’s what they say, right?’
‘Right,’ I agree wholeheartedly. I’m not broken. But I certainly don’t feel any stronger at the moment. Call me mean, but hearing someone else’s problems makes me feel mighty better about my own.
The conversation is coming easily. It’s nice, normal. Zara isn’t looking at me with sympathy, she isn’t asking me pressing questions, searching my eyes for evidence of a memory like everyone around me does. She’s just chatting to me like a normal woman would.
‘Oh, excuse me,’ I say, pulling my phone from my pocket as we enter the coffee shop. ‘I need to call someone.’ My thumb falters over the screen, and I stare down, not sure how to even use the thing. I’ve answered Jesse’s phone, but that’s only because the thing told me to swipe. So I swipe. And get asked for a code. ‘Never mind.’ I’ll wait for John to call me. ‘I’ll get these,’ I say, shrugging my coat off. ‘What would you like?’
‘A latte would be lovely, thank you.’ Zara takes a seat while I order our drinks, pulling out my credit card and looking at the name across the front. Mrs A. Ward. I’m prompted by the server to pay, and I come over hot. What’s the PIN?
‘It’s contactless,’ he says, and I frown, catching a woman to my left tapping her card on the next machine. I follow her lead, raising my eyebrows when I see the machine tells me it’s accepted. I smile, chuffed, and take the drinks, heading for the table and settling with Zara.
Crazy as it seems, I’m feeling a little rebellious, going off the normal course of my day. ‘So where did you live before you came here?’ I ask.
‘Newcastle.’ She shakes her head on a laugh. ‘I can’t believe how expensive it is here!’
I find myself laughing, too, because I’ve been consistently shocked by inflation in my absent sixteen years. ‘Yeah, prices around these parts are no joke.’ I chink her coffee cup with mine. ‘How long have you been here?’
‘Only a couple of months. Still settling in, but I really miss my dog.’
‘Oh no, what happened?’
‘Rentals won’t allow pets, so I lost him in the separation.’
‘Oh, that’s crap. So do you have a job?’
‘I do. Only started a month ago, but it’s going great, and the potential to climb the ladder is just what I want.’
‘What do you do?’ I sit back in my seat, riveted by the conversation, despite it being simple and normal and probably boring to some. But it’s different.
‘I specialise in commercial property interiors. It sounds rather boring, I know, but I’m passionate about it and that’s what matters, right?’
‘I used to be an interior designer.’ I sound utterly unimpressed with myself. I used to be. Now? Now I don’t know what I do.
‘Oh, you did?’ Her eyes light up as she sits forward in her chair. ‘Private?’ she asks, and I nod, telling the stupid lump in my throat to fuck off. ‘And you don’t any more?’
I shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘My husband owns a health club. After I had the kids and some time off, it made sense for me to work there.’ At least, that’s what I assume.
As Zara rests back in her chair, she takes a sip of her coffee, thoughtful. ‘Well, if you ever decide to dip a toe back into that world, I know my company is always looking for talented designers in all sectors.’
What is that inside me? Excitement? ‘Really?’
‘Sure!’ She matches my beam. ‘I can put you in touch with my manager, if you’d like?’
‘I’d love that. Let me give you my number.’ That excitement doubles as Zara fetches her phone and gets ready for me to reel the digits off, looking up at me in prompt. ‘It’s . . .’ I fade off, rummaging through every corner of my mind for my own phone number. ‘It’s . . .’
Zara chuckles. ‘I never remember mine, either.’ She taps at the screen of her phone and turns it towards me. I see her name in her contacts and her number. ‘Call me and we can save them.’