wonder it was called the Mother of Parliaments.
'Was she with you in Brussels?'
'I, um, haven't been to Brussels,' Nick said, at last having the grace to sound slightly shamefaced. 'I've been in London, trying to decide what to do. About us. And now I have. I'm moving out.'
'Moving out? But it's your flat.'
'Ye-e-es. I'm moving in with Melissa. But there's no need for you to leave. Stay as long as you like. As long as you keep up with the, um, mortgage payments, of course.'
'Of course.' How magnanimous of him. With one bound he was free and had gained a tenant with a doubled rent cheque. 'Right, then,' Jane said, feeling thoroughly out-manoeuvred. 'Um, OK,' she added slowly, uncertainly. Suddenly, quite unexpectedly, a mist veiled her eyes and a warm flush spread across her face. A sob caught in her throat.
'Look, I'm sorry—'
'Don't.' It wasn't the loss of Nick that tore at her heart. It was his criminally appalling timing. Why hadn't he done this to her yesterday, before Tom had, well, done what Tom did? Their fling needn't have been quite so meaningless and shallow after all.
Til be round to pick up some things,' Nick said uncomfortably. Til understand if you're not there.'
Jane put the phone down as hard as she dared without drawing Josh's attention.
It rang again immediately. 'I can explain everything.'
'What do you mean?' asked Jane.
'Nothing's wrong at all. I don't think you quite understood.'
69
'What?' asked Jane, too confused to place who was speaking.
'Champagne. When she called you. She's upset because the manicurist cut her nails the wrong shape, that's all. Got a bit emotional about it.' With an effort, Jane recognised Simon's voice. He had evidently recovered his sangfroid. 'She's fine now, though. Emergency over. Thought you'd like to know.'
Bugger Champagne and her manicures, thought Jane. Crisis on her hands indeed. 'Fantastic,' she said heavily.
Wishing the accelerator pedal was Nick's head, Jane shot over Waterloo Bridge like a 2CV out of hell. He had discarded her like yesterday's newspapers. Only even yesterday's newspapers had a longer lifespan with Nick. Some had hung around the flat for years.
The scales had fallen from her eyes to such an extent that she could no longer see straight, and completely missed her exit off the Elephant and Castle roundabout. The things she had done for Nick, she raged, shooting down the Embankment in the opposite direction to the one she had intended. The support she had given his career, particularly. When he was trying to get elected to the local council, en route to his goal of working in Westminster, was it not she who had stuffed endless envelopes for him? Wandered devotedly around in the pouring rain canvassing for him? Even stood in for him at his Town Hall surgery when he had been unavoidably delayed. Unavoidably delayed doing what? Jane now fumed, curling her lip with fury. It was not a surgery she wanted to see Nick in at the moment. It was Accident and Emergency.
She had stuck with him through thick and thin. Not that she had ever been all that thin. But she had certainly
been thick. Stupid beyond belief, in fact. She ground her teeth as she remembered the answerphone choked with messages from Nick's constituents, all of which she had diligently noted down for him. People complaining to the councillor about stains on their bathroom ceiling. People whispering suspicions that their neighbours were beaming death rays through the wall at them. People railing about hospital waiting lists, including the never-to-be-forgotten Cypriot matron whose swollen legs had bulged and snaked hideously with fat varicose veins. She had arrived in person in the end, choosing a morning when Nick was particularly badly hungover to come and show him exactly how much she needed an operation on her calves. It had worked. Once he had forced down his nausea, Nick had been on to the hospital like a flash.
Then there had been Nick's many meannesses. The way he always