Page 51 of Leaning In

There’s a pause, and she runs back through to give me a hug. You’d think I haven’t gotten a hug in the past five years with how my body reacts to Claire’s embrace. I hold onto the hug for a second too long before suddenly remembering myself and releasing her.

Claire suddenly pulls back, cheeks pink. “Thank you for looking after me.”

Before I can respond she’s already rushed away, and I hear the sound of a shower turning on.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Kath: Oh my god I’m SO sorry. Just saw these.

Kath: Thank you for staying with Claire. I think she might have found some tequila in a cabinet…

I stare at the screen for a moment before shoving my phone back into my pocket. I don’t really deserve thanks for staying, any decent person would have stayed. But I feel oddly satisfied that I was the one there when she needed something.

A hairdryer roars to life. Claire’s moving like the building’s on fire. Even in my sleep-deprived state the pieces start to slot into place. Looking around her tidy flat, that she’s about to hoover for an audience of one, I suddenly start to understand more than I did a week ago. Or maybe what she’s been trying to tell me is slowly sinking in. Pieces from the gala, our awkward conversation at Kath’s birthday party and last night start fitting into place.

I doubt she remembers what she said last night, and I’m not going to hold her to things she doesn’t know she said, but the knot of annoyance I’d still been holding onto is unravelling.

But even if I get it, I still don’t know what to do with it.

At least I can stop taking her silence as personally as I was before.

Going to her kitchen counter, I boil the kettle, make a cup of tea for Claire, and then quietly let myself out of the house.

Chapter 20

Claire

Mum arrives just after I finished straightening the cushions, and sweeps me into a tight hug. She tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and gives me a gentle smile.

“I just think he was a very nice boy, darling.”

Ten minutes later I’m still sitting gingerly on the sofa with a pounding head, listening to her tell me about “what a shame it is” that Alexander and I didn’t work out.

I’m exhausted. The hangover isn’t helping either, or the fact that Tom stayed over last night to look after me. The pillows on the sofa still smell like him and the cup of tea he made is the only thing I had time to drink. I’m still not ready to examine what that cup of tea did to me. Or the fact that he seems to know the exact milk to tea ratio that I like.

My brain feels scrambled and I can’t sort through it on my own. I think I should finally book the therapy appointment I’ve been toying with for months.

“I just made some new friends at book club.” Mum straightens one of my cushions with a frown. “And one of them has a son called Edmund who sounds lovely. Maybe you should meet him.”

Please god, no. Maybe I could persuade Sophia to break her no-dating rule and take Edmund. We could take turns being set up.

“Mum, I really don’t think now is the time to talk about Edmund.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “I’m just saying, he’s got a stable job and his father owns a large estate in Somerset. You love the countryside, dear. Maybe it would be nice to have a country retreat.”

I wonder how to explain to her that Edmund’s dad having a house in Somerset does not automatically equate to me having a “country retreat”. In fact I would essentially need to be married to Edmund and for him to have inherited the estate for this to happen, which, given I haven’t even met the guy, isn’t exactly on the cards.

Normally, my default would be to avoid conflict, let it go.

But I’m currently feeling just a tad too unstable and a tad too fragile to let it go completely.

“I think maybe we should wait for a moment before you throw me at the next man to come along.” My voice is tight.

Mum frowns, though doesn’t seem to pick up on the tension. She smooths her hand over her pearl necklace and purses her lips. “Any longer and you’ll be wasting your prime years, dear. And I just don’t think it’s healthy to sit around moping. That’s all. Life isn’t certain, you’ve always got to look to the future because you never know what might happen.”

A flicker of something that might be vulnerability crosses her face. Or possibly a muscle misfire.

“I’m not moping,” I reply, exasperated. “But it’s only been a day since Alexander and I broke up. I think I’m allowed to be emotionally raw for a bit before you start raffling me off like a prize ham at a village fête. Though I’m sure Edmund’s family have a lovely and tasteful village fête in Somerset.”