He got up, moved from his little sofa to hers, and hugged her. ‘Now you’re getting the Oscar for Nicest Person In A Family Drama…’ He planted a huge wet kiss on her cheek, then got up. ‘Sure you don’t want me to stay and help clean up? I mean, I’d rather set my Prada snow boots on fire than brush a floor or scrub Cathy’s toner off that sink, but I’d do it for you.’
Laughing, she shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t want to undermine your celebrity hairdresser status and gargantuan ego, so no, it’sfine. I’ll do it. Go help my daughter pick an outfit for tonight, and if it shows more than 50 per cent of her skin, I’ll kill you,’ she said sweetly.
He hugged her again. ‘Good to know. I’ll put her in a onesie.’ He was almost out of the door when he stopped. ‘You know, I miss you, sis. In case you were wondering.’
‘I miss you too,’ she replied truthfully, before resorting to their standard sibling dynamic and adding a cheeky, ‘And I wasn’t wondering because how could you not?’
Only when the bell at the front door confirmed his departure did she jump up from the couch, grab her coat from the row of pegs on the wall and her bag from the table. The cleaning up could wait until tomorrow. Her first client wasn’t in until 10a.m., and it was Mrs Dawson, former Weirbridge High School dinner lady, who was about ninety, short of sight, hard of hearing and took her knitting everywhere, so she wouldn’t notice or care if the place wasn’t up to its usual pristine standards.
The snow was still falling, but council gritters had been up Main Street, so the thick white blanket had been replaced by a grey, gritty sludge that crackled as Georgie trudged across the road to the Once Upon A Time Café. This whole impending scenario was giving her mixed feelings. On the one hand, she hoped that the woman had realised this was some kind of mistake and done a runner – but, on the other hand, if Flynn was in a fully-fledged relationship while trying to win her back, then she wanted to know about it.
When Georgie pushed open the door, her hopes of the woman bailing on the meeting were dashed. There she was. She was the only customer in the café, and she’d chosen a table in the corner, furthest away from the counter, beside the glistening tree with its garlands of twinkling lights. She’d taken her jacket and hat off now and Georgie could see she was in maybe her latetwenties with a blonde pixie cut and a pretty face that was free of make-up, except for what looked like long, dark eyelash extensions and a slick of something shiny on her lips. Georgie felt the weight of her stare as she approached her.
It was a relief to see that Hugo was behind the counter. Her Aunt Cathy had mentioned that Dorinda was here today, and having that woman eavesdropping on this conversation and then spreading it around the village would be yet another nightmare. Although, hopefully, the sound of ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas’ coming from the speakers would drown them out.
‘All right, Georgie? What can I get you, pet?’ Hugo greeted her, and her gaze flicked to the woman, nursing what she could see was an almost empty coffee mug.
‘Coffee please, Hugo,’ she said, as she pulled out a chair. ‘Can I get you another one?’
The woman nodded, so Georgie passed that on.
‘Make that two, please, Hugo.’
He’d just replied with a thumbs up, when, behind her, the café door opened again, and she felt her heart stop. If it was anyone she knew, this was about to become extremely awkward, because this wasn’t the type of village that you could get away with not introducing someone to a friend. ‘Well hello, Mrs Dawson – yes, terrible weather. This is a complete stranger, who is currently shagging my ex-husband. Yes, the one who buggered off to Thailand and then came back with his tail between his legs.’
Thankfully, the arrivals were just Alyssa and Ginny, who flew in the door, gave her a quick, ‘Hey, Georgie!’ and then disappeared into the back kitchen.
Okay, back to her coffee companion.
Georgie wasn’t sure how these conversations were supposed to go, but she was a hairdresser with two decades of experience inbreaking the ice and drawing out conversations from strangers, so she spoke first.
‘I’m sorry for taking so long. Thanks for waiting. I guess you know my name, but I didn’t catch yours.’ Actually, it hadn’t been offered, but Georgie was glossing over that.
‘I’m Monica. Monica Turner. I work with Flynn at Alba Central Solar.’
That removed any doubt that they were talking about the same man.
‘And we’ve been seeing each other for a year now.’
Wow. Just wow. He’d kept that one to himself. Georgie already had so many questions, but now that Monica was speaking, she didn’t want to interrupt her.
‘We were supposed to be moving in together before Christmas, but lately he’s been dragging his heels, acting weird, and I didn’t know why. I guess now I do.’
There was no malice in her tone, just defeat and sinking realisation. This poor woman. Georgie respected the courage it must have taken to come here.
‘What do you need to know, Monica?’ she prompted, gently.
‘Everything. I sussed out that you’re his ex-wife and he slept at your house last night – and I’m guessing that wasn’t the first time – so I suppose I want to know what’s going on.’
Hugo must have sensed the tension, because at that, he delivered the coffee and made a swift retreat.
Georgie took a deep breath, then began at the start, with a bullet-point recap of her marriage to Flynn, their separation, divorce, and then got to the more relevant stuff.
‘And you’re right – for the last few months he’s being staying over sometimes. In my defence, I had no idea he was seeing you. He told me he wasn’t interested in dating anyone else, and if I’d known that wasn’t true, then it wouldn’t have happened.’
The irony in this didn’t escape her. Wasn’t it supposed to be the wife that was getting cheated on with a girlfriend, not the girlfriend getting cheated on with the wife?
A point of curiosity niggled her, though.
