Free Straight Talking by Jane Green Page A

suddenly felt sick to my stomach, and I could feel my voice shaking as I said, “Tanya.”
    “What, that girl in the picture? Oh my God, I’m sorry, Tash. I didn’t realize, but I don’t know whether it was her, they weren’t holding hands or anything.”
    “This girl is beautiful, you would know her, Mel. She looks like a bloody model. Did this girl he was with look like a model?”
    There was a long pause, and Mel just said, “I’m sorry, I am so sorry.”
    “Maybe I’m wrong, maybe we’re both wrong. Look, he’ll be home soon, I’ll call you back later.” Even as I put the phone down I could hear Mel apologizing again.
    I stood up and my legs felt like jelly. A drink, that’s what I needed, so I poured myself a vodka and soda water—because Simon never had mixers, did he?—and I drank it down as if it were water.
    Then Simon phoned from work. “Fanny darling, I’m stuck in the office, can we cancel going out for dinner tonight? I don’t know what time I’ll be home.”
    I forced my voice to sound normal as I said, “That’s fine. I’m tired anyway. What have you done today, anything exciting?”
    “No, boring day, I’ve been too busy to get out.”
    “Not even for a sandwich?”
    My heart had started thumping again, and I was sure he could hear it in my voice but the bastard didn’t, he said, “No, I had to send one of the secretaries out and she got the order wrong and came back with a tuna mix which I hate. I might have to go and grab something this evening.”
    “Simon.” The word came out very slowly, and that was when he knew. “If you didn’t go out how come Mel saw you walking down the street in Soho?”
    “Well, I went out to get some cigarettes. What is this, the fifth fucking degree? What the hell’s wrong with me leaving the office?”
    “Who were you with?”
    “I wasn’t with anyone,” but his voice was rising, and it didn’t matter what words he was actually saying, all I was hearing was guilt. I’m guilty. Shit.
    “Well, that’s interesting because apparently you were with Tanya.” I didn’t even bother giving him a chance to deny it was her, and credit where credit’s due, the bastard didn’t bother denying it. He didn’t do anything. There was just a very long silence.
    “I’m coming home. We need to talk.”
    “Really,” I snapped nastily, “I thought you had too much to do.”
    “Give me half an hour.” And he went.
    You know when you wake up in the morning and everything’s great, the sun’s shining and life is beautiful, it doesn’t seem real how everything can collapse around your ears by the end of the day. And even while it’s happening it feels like you’re in a film. What would a heroine in a great romantic tragedy do now? She’d pour herself another quadruple vodka and tonic, or soda water. No actually, she’d probably drink it neat. So I did.
    I’ve got to be honest here, I’m not entirely sure what happened that night because by the time Simon came home I was having difficulty focusing. Which is probably not a bad thing because the more drunk I got the angrier I became, and for the first time I didn’t give a damn if he saw, I wanted him to feel it.
    Simon walked in and hesitated by the front door as he saw me, swaying ominously in the doorway of the kitchen. The bastard hung his head and then came over and put his arms around me. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I love you and I’m sorry.”
    God, I’m embarrassed to admit this to you, but do you know what I felt? At that precise moment I didn’t feel anger, I felt a little ray of hope, maybe it was all over with Tanya. Maybe we could just carry on as if nothing ever happened.
    “What are you sorry about? I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
    “I love you, Tasha. I really love you and I meant what I said last week, I’ve never loved anyone as much as you, but I don’t know whether I’m
in
love with you. You’re my best friend, the woman I respect more than any