Chapter Twenty-Three

‘Picture it,' CJ said with a purr. ‘We could be a publishing power couple, the literary darling and his commercial superstar. A modern-day Henry Miller and Ana?s Nin, F Scott Fitzgerald and Zelda, Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath.'

‘And I'll be going the same way as Sylvia Plath if you don't stop talking immediately.' I stared at my ex-boyfriend. Who was this lunatic? ‘You can't be serious.'

‘Why not?' he reasoned. ‘Things are different now.'

‘How?'

‘You're a bestselling author. Not just some little primary school teacher.'

Somehow he managed to misread the shock on my face for something altogether different and squeezed my hand with encouragement. It was a miracle he was still standing.

‘You don't have to look like that, silly, it's not a trick,' he said happily. ‘I'm prepared to give you a second chance.'

‘You're prepared to give me a second chance.'

I had to repeat the words to make sure I was hearing him correctly. Of all the unpredictable things that had happened to me since leaving home on Thursday morning, this was, without a doubt, the most nightmarish. Not even Margaret Atwood could've come up with such a dystopic plot twist. I would volunteer for the Hunger Games before I got back together with CJ.

Disentangling my hand from his, I straightened his tie and patted him briskly on the shoulder.

‘CJ, I don't know how to put this kindly but even if I received a solid gold telegram from a flying pig saying hell had frozen over and the only other two humans left alive were you and Boris Johnson, you would find me in the phone book under Mrs BoJo in less than two minutes flat.'

‘I think, when people look back on the early twenty-first century—' he began but I was in no mood to hear the rest of it.

‘You're a shitbag,' I said, filling my voice with conviction and forcing him to hear me. ‘You're a user and an opportunist, you're beyond selfish, and I would never, ever even consider getting back together but I should thank you for inspiring me because if you had even an ounce of talent in the bedroom, I might never have put pen to paper.'

Of course, that was the only bit he really heard.

‘As I recall, you weren't complaining at the time,' he said, nostrils flaring beneath his glasses.

‘As I recall I wasn't providing much feedback at all,' I replied. ‘I was usually too busy thinking about what we needed from the supermarket or wondering if I'd remembered to pay the gas bill. Thank god they invented rechargeable vibrators because I could not afford to keep giving Duracell half my salary. You know teachers are wildly underpaid.'

His beneficent expression twisted into something ugly and bitter and I felt myself tensing up. He never had been one to take rejection well. I thought back to all those torn-up letters I'd found on the living room floor until he finally found an agent who took pity on him.

‘God, you're such a cliché,' he spat. ‘That's how I knew you wrote the book, such lazy, predictable writing. It's not good, Sophie. I'm not surprised you wanted to keep your name off it. I'd be mortified if people thought that was the sum total of my talent.'

But his words rolled off me like lazy, predictable water off a duck's back.

‘Of all the opinions I give a shit about, yours is at the very bottom of the list,' I said, pleasantly surprised by my own lack of reaction. ‘I'll pass on the reconciliation but give me a shout when you've written your second book. If it's not shit and I've got time between counting all my money and writing the second and third books I already have contracted, I might blurb you.'

He scoffed, enraged. ‘As if I'd want your endorsement. I've no interest in being a housewives' favourite.'

‘At least then you'd be someone's favourite.'

‘I'm going to tell everyone,' CJ cried, high on the bitter sting of a knockback. ‘I'm going to tell your parents, I'm going to tell my debut author Facebook group—'

I looked away as he carried on with his rant, wondering how long I would have to endure his tantrum. It was strangely reminiscent of our sex life.

‘—All those things people were saying earlier, to Joe, they didn't mean it. Everyone was laughing at you behind your back. If your mother knew the truth, she'd never speak to you again.'

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Joe excuse himself from his conversation and make a beeline over to us but CJ didn't notice, too busy conjuring up insults.

‘You're not even a real writer,' he went on, tears in his eyes now. ‘It's not even a real book, just a load of tropes and clichés strung together. You're not serious, you're not an artist like me. You don't even live in London!'

‘Last time I checked that wasn't in a writer's job requirement,' Joe said, appearing by my side and making CJ jump out of his skin. ‘Believe it or not, there are other places in the country.'

‘When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life,' CJ sniped. ‘To quote the genius wordsmith Oscar Wilde.'

‘Been a minute since I was in a pub quiz but I'm pretty sure that was Samuel Johnson,' I replied. ‘Not Oscar Wilde.'

‘And to quote another genius wordsmith, Taylor Swift,' Joe added. ‘Haters gonna hate.'

‘As if you two know anything about literature.' CJ pulled out his phone to prove himself wrong. ‘Here it is, when a man is … oh.'

‘YOU!' Charlotte boomed, racing across the lawn when she saw my ex's Android and his crestfallen face. ‘CJ, you chunt, give that to me.'

‘What's a chunt?' Joe asked in a whisper.

‘Use your imagination,' I replied in the same.

‘You know it's no phones allowed.' She swiped it out of his hand and delivered a swift kick to the shins with her black and white Nikes. ‘I can't believe you.'

‘I assumed that didn't include family,' CJ said, blinking his cow eyes behind the magnifying lenses of his glasses but Charlotte the Gen Z genius was unmoved.

‘It does but you're not family.'

She held the phone up to his face to unlock it then flounced off, scanning his photo album and howling with laughter as she skipped away.

‘How is it possible your sister is as awful as you are,' he said viciously after she disappeared into the house to stash his phone with the rest of her bounty. ‘It's beyond me how a woman like your mother managed to raise such a pair of—'

‘If I were you, I'd be really careful how I finish that sentence,' Joe interrupted, stepping forward.

CJ sneered. ‘Why, what are you going to do?'

‘Say whatever it is you were going to say and find out.'

‘Boys,' I cautioned, positioning myself between the posturing men.

CJ drew himself up to his full six feet of height and still came up short compared to Joe.

‘I'm not afraid of you,' he said, even though both of his hands were visibly shaking. ‘And she's not worth it, just so you know. Starfished her way through five years together and now she's begging me to take her back.'

‘That's me,' I replied with a dramatic shrug at Joe. ‘As you can see, I'm practically on my hands and knees over here.'

‘Bitch.'

CJ whispered the word so quietly it almost escaped under the music and party chatter but I heard it and, if I heard it, Joe heard it too.

‘Do you know where the nearest hospital is?' he asked.

‘Yes?' CJ replied.

Joe clenched his huge hands into giant fists and rolled back his shoulders.

‘Good.'

As a teacher, I believed violence was never the answer, unless it was between siblings in which case it was totally fine, but there was a dark little part of me that really wanted to see Joe knock CJ on his arse. There was an even bigger part of me that wanted to do it myself but my dress was new and the bodice tight and I wasn't sure how possible it would be to throw a proper punch without ripping it.

‘Joe, leave the poor wretch alone,' William said, appearing just in time to join me for the standoff. ‘Look at him, he's suffered plenty.'

‘I don't know about that,' Joe replied, still staring daggers at CJ. ‘He's an ignorant, overgrown toddler squeezed into a Topman suit and I've had enough of him.'

‘How dare you!' CJ shrieked. ‘This is Dries van Noten!'

It was a strange final straw but insulting a suit that was so tight we could all see the cut of his boxer shorts seemed to be the thing that finally pushed CJ too far. He launched himself at Joe but, before he could land a hit, William put out one arm to hold him back, and just a few half-hearted attempts at slaps in Joe's direction windmilled over my brother's shoulder before CJ gave up.

‘Really?' Joe said, trying not to laugh. ‘That's it?'

‘I hate to interrupt CJ getting a pasting but your presence is needed.' Sarah hurried over with a worried look on her face. ‘All of you,' she said before resting her eyes on CJ. ‘Well, not you, obviously, you walking chocolate teapot.'

‘Were we too mean to him?' I asked as we hurried away, following her across the garden. I shivered suddenly. The air had turned cooler and there was a sudden breeze.

‘No,' William and Joe answered together.

‘I don't even know what he said and I'm confident we're right,' William added. ‘Please don't tell me or I might have to go back there and slap him myself.'

‘You're going to be too busy breaking up another fight,' Sarah told him, pushing through the crowd that had gathered by the bouncy castle and leading us all through to the front.