I know that note. I know it word for word.
‘I can’t believe I’m saying it out loud. He’s gone. I can’t find him anywhere. Not even to talk about things. I’m devastated. Do you know where he is? Has he been in touch with you?’ She starts to sob and a woman at the next table with some carrot cake looks over, giving me evils because it looks like I made her cry.
I offer Laila a napkin and put a hand to her arm. ‘No. I haven’t seen him since he left me.’
‘He couldn’t even tell me to my face. We’ve literally just come back from honeymoon. I am so embarrassed. I haven’t been able to tell my family. My dad is going to kill me.’
‘I don’t think your dad would do that,’ I reply, realising I don’t really know her dad. ‘Mine didn’t. I think he wanted to killhimmore than anything.’
She looks up from the table and takes a sip from the bottle of water in her hand. ‘What do you mean?’ she asks, wide-eyed. ‘He told me you dumped him. That you cheated on him.’
I study her face. ‘No. He left. He wrote me a note… He left it on—’
‘The fridge?’
I nod. My body stiffens as I realise that his MO hasn’t changed one bit. Dump her, make her feel bad for it. ‘His story to me was far more dramatic. He was going travelling. He told me he went to Venezuela.’
Laila stares around the coffee shop, looking like she might pass out. ‘Oh my god, I am going to be sick,’ she says, overwhelmed by the emotion. She keels over and puts her head between her knees. I pat her gently on the back. ‘I’m such an idiot,’ she announces.
A man steaming milk looks at me. Please calm down, everyone. I am not the person making her cry.
‘I believed him, every word. What’s even more stupid? I gave him money for some finance start-up. Thousands gone.’
And he stole from her too. I think I want to start crying with her. ‘We’d saved money together for a deposit on a house. He took it all.’
We both sit there together, wearing our joint feelings of stupidity.
‘I can’t believe he did it to you too?’ she says, in shock.
I nod. ‘His note was harsh, cruel, so I shelved it, I thought it was about him not loving me or being good enough. I feel awful he just jumped to the next person and did the same thing.’
‘God, it’s not your fault at all. He’s a con man. I married a con man. I could kill him. Actually kill him…’ she roars, slamming her bottle down. ‘How bloody stupid am I to have fallen for that?’ she says through gritted teeth.
I put my hand to the air. ‘Don’t worry. I did too. He was excellent at playing us. Or maybe he’s just a king-sized wanker?’ I mumble.
She laughs through her tears and the woman with the carrot cake looks less judgemental now. Michelle looks like she’s bloody desperate to know what’s happening, though. Put the spork down, Michelle.
‘Are you OK? What are you going to do?’ I ask her.
‘Well, he left some stuff. I’m going to burn that. But my dad never liked him. He had a cast-iron prenup in place. I’m just in shock. Now you’re telling me all this stuff? I don’t know what to think. My dad will literally hunt him down, though. He’ll be lucky to still have kneecaps by the end of the week,’ she tells me quite calmly.
Your dad is really not like my dad. Sadness and shock are slowly turning into anger, vengeance. At least you will never think this is because of you, Laila. I hope you never wear those emotions and let them weigh you down. I look down and she’s still wearing her wedding band, a pretty hefty engagement ring that she fiddles with.
‘I got a message over the weekend to go and collect my wedding dress from the dry-cleaner’s. I’ve still got gifts stacked up in my hallway, for god’s sake!’
Her tears are welling up again. I remember that pain, the feeling when I’d realised he’d taken all that money. It was an empty, stabbing feeling that he’d taken even more from me.
‘I have many alternative names you can call him. My dad is keen on shitbox. But even that feels too good.’
She blows her nose noisily, half laughing, half crying.
‘Never feel bad for trusting someone, Laila. For loving them. It gets better.’
I’m not sure my platitudes are going to work, but it’s true, every word. Never change or feel bad for who you are. I’ve learnt that the hard way in the past few months.
‘I’ll take your word for it, Josie. I am sorry to have ambushed you like this. You seem really nice. He always made you out to be some bitch…’
‘He did?’
