Free This is a Love Story by Jessica Thompson Page A

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    My self-pity lasted for about an hour, then I decided I had to sort myself out. All that was left of my broken relationship was this note, the photo on the fridge and the tablecloth. I calmly picked up all three and put them in the bin. The remains. That’s what I’d meant.
    Suddenly my phone rang, but I didn’t recognise the number. I let it vibrate frantically before I decided it just might be important. ‘Hello?’ I answered, slightly concerned at who it might be.
    ‘Hey, Nick.’ I recognised that voice.
    ‘Oh, hello, Sienna. You OK?’ I responded, immediately sitting down, embarrassed as I looked at the display of self-loathing all around me.
    ‘I’m fine, thanks. Just wanted to check the details for the morning. Is it still OK for you to pick me up?’
    ‘Yes, of course. I’ll be round at quarter to four, if that’s all right?’
    ‘Great . . . I was going to ask you. Could you not ring the doorbell or anything, please? If you could just give me a call, I’ll run out, yeah?’
    ‘Oh, sure, of course. Wouldn’t want to wake anyone up!’ I joked.
    There was a strange pause on the other end of the line.
    ‘Can you text me your address? I don’t have a pen handy,’ I added, trying to break the strange quiet that had overshadowed our conversation, while simultaneously scanning the room for one of the hundreds of brightly coloured pens that seemed to be everywhere when I didn’t need one.
    ‘Sure,’ she replied.
    ‘What happened earlier, by the way, Sienna? You know, that crazy man outside the office?’ I realised I hadn’t asked before, and I really wanted to know.
    ‘Er, nothing, don’t worry. I’ll explain later. So, what are you up to?’ she asked, swiftly changing the subject.
    Oh God, cold sweat. Cold sweat. ‘Just reading a book in French about the Revolution, actually,’ I responded quietly. I cringed at my lie, but I had to. The reality of me drinking spirits and smoking myself to death over my ex-girlfriend was pathetic. Still, I could have chosen something slightly cooler than the scenario my brain had just selected at random – like coming back from boxing training or something.
    ‘Oh, wow. That sounds fascinating,’ she said. I could hear her smile.
    ‘What about you?’
    ‘Just packing,’ came her reply, neat and tidy.
    Damn. Why didn’t I just say that? Now she was going to ask me questions about the French Revolution on the plane that I might not be able to answer.
    ‘Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, Si. Not long now!’
    ‘No, not long at all. See you later.’
    The line went dead.
    All of a sudden I was filled with hope again, so I dashed upstairs to pack. My packing plan was a little more elaborate than the one I’d adopted for Ibiza. Fewer shorts, sun cream and novelty hats; more suits, gadgets and hair gel.
    I loved events like this. I had never covered the gaming fair in America before, but I had done lots of similar trips and it meant spending a few hours taking pictures, then enjoying slap-up meals and nights out on the company credit card.
    Sienna
    The sun was rising slowly over the city of London and Nick and I were watching it through a tiny window to my left. Rich whirls of colour were bathing the fields around the runway in a warm glow. My thoughts were a mix of overwhelming excitement and serious worry. I hoped things at home would be OK.
    When I took the job I knew I might have to go away for work every now and then, so Elouise kindly agreed to pop round and keep an eye on things when I did. This was really short notice, though. I definitely owed her a few babysitting sessions, even if I had a habit of teaching Luke naughty words by accident.
    Last summer I was looking after him and we were playing in the garden. I managed to tread on a wasp, which stung me between my toes, forcing me to utter a tirade of words that turned the air blue. He stood and looked at me with his feet pointing inwards and a look of fear clouding his big green eyes. It