Chapter 1

ONE

Four Months Later

Zoe

‘I know someone who works in a sexual health testing laboratory. I could see if she could get us a vial of crabs and we could give them to him,' Kate tells me, peering over her glass of wine as we sit in my garden, trying to absorb the last of the late summer's rays. I would laugh but the thought of a vial full of pubic lice makes me grimace instead.

‘No, you could not. That is so grim. How would I give them to him? Here, Brian – pour these in your pants?' I say in horror, half-laughing.

Kate shifts me a look, incredulous. ‘No, silly. We'd have to break into his flat and sprinkle them into his pants drawer. Or maybe we could send him anonymous tainted pants. We could send them to that cow who was your supposed friend, too. There are ways and means. I'll ask for vicious blood-sucking crabs.'

I worry at how Kate has thought this through in such detail, but I also vibrate with laughter at my dear sister. Only a sibling would love you so ferociously and with such thought for how to seek revenge on your lying, cheating ratbag of a husband and his new lover. She pulls her hair into a bun, streaks of grey starting to colour her temples, her bright blue eyes matching mine. We sit together on this bench, around my faded garden table, remnants of cheese, charcuterie and wine corks littering the place. I re-arrange the blanket that covers our knees, looking up to watch as the sky starts to fade and the stars poke through. Kate leans over, lighting a candle on the table and using it to light up a cigarette.

‘Give me a bit,' I ask her.

‘You always told me it was an awful habit,' she tells me, scrunching up her face.

‘It is.' Cigarettes always look unnatural on me. Maybe because I hold them with both hands carefully. I suck in the fumes and let them sit in my soul for a minute, hoping it might mask all that other emotion in there. Just one drag can't hurt. I cough and hand it back to my sister. ‘I didn't realise there were different types of crabs.'

‘I made that up. Actually, I don't know. I'll Google it.'

‘The problem there then is if Brian lets on and reports us to the police, they'll look at your search history and then you'll have to go down.'

‘I would do that for you, though. I would,' she says, resting her head on my shoulder.

‘I know.' I rest my head on hers and cling on to her for dear life. My wonderful Kate. The older sister and the one who came here when life started falling apart, when I told Brian to get out of our family home, and who ensured we all got through these disastrous few months. The one who removed all traces of my husband in this house, who said things to his face that I didn't know how to, who picked up my children and held us close to let us know that even though our dynamic had changed, love was still there. She picks up a piece of salami and stuffs it into her mouth. The only problem now is that she has to go back to her life and work in Birmingham tomorrow. There was only so much living and working remotely she could do, plus her husband, Neil, told us her cats were starting to show symptoms of separation anxiety.

‘I always thought I'd be excellent in prison. I'd be like Paddington. I'd make jams and encourage rehabilitation through arts, crafts and baked goods.'

I wrinkle my nose. ‘Or, more likely, be the one crocheting ropes to start prison breaks.'

‘That, too. I'd make crocheting street, you know?'

We both sit there, silently sipping at wine, looking out into my garden. Brian and I weren't in the least bit green-fingered so it's mostly lawn, whatever shrubs came with the house and some garden furniture that has seen better days, stuff that Brian didn't want when he moved out. That happened three weeks ago. He rented a van. Kate keyed the van before he left because that's what Kate needed to do. But it was a strange day of transactions and debate. He fought me for cereal bowls. I think that was the nadir of our breakdown, when he wanted just the three cereal bowls. What sort of animal breaks up a dining set like that? Who fights over the minutiae of life like that, like it's important? I wish we'd done more with this garden. There's an apple tree at the bottom that surprises me every year, yielding fruit even though I don't really give it any care. I also need to sort Dylan's broken goal that leans against the fence, maybe add something to attract birds and squirrels.

‘Can I say something?' Kate says, tucking her feet under the blanket to make herself more comfortable. ‘There were things about him I never liked. I feel I can bring these things up now.'

‘Shoot,' I say, taking a big gulp of wine.

‘He liked golf. I always think golf is for bores and twats.' I clink her glass. ‘I also thought he needed better chinos, like a flat cut or something. There was a lot of bunching around the crotch area. Not that I was looking but sometimes it just looked like he was wearing a nappy.'

I giggle.

‘And I didn't like how he got territorial over the barbeque in the summer. How he'd tuck a tea towel in his back pocket and then strut around with his tongs like he was Gordon fucking Ramsay, telling us about the marbling on his wagyu.'

I smile. The fact was, the kids used to tease him about that mercilessly. It became a family in-joke and a sort of pain stings through me to remember a time where we laughed off his preoccupation with the barbeque and the silly aprons he used to wear. I remember when Lottie strutted around the kitchen imitating him and he got grumpy and told us all to piss off, and we laughed even harder.

Kate senses my quiet and snuggles into me more. ‘His allergies were also annoying, the constant sniffing,' she tells me. ‘He used to roll his eyes at me when I told him about local honey.'

I nod. ‘This is true. He was not one for alternative medicine.'

‘And he was just too fond of Liam Gallagher. Like, you're allowed to like the man, he's a quality musician, but it was bordering on fanatical.'

Kate proceeds to bellow out a really bad rendition of Wonderwall that makes a bird fall out of a neighbouring tree.

‘Someone's tuneful tonight. Is that the Pinot?'

‘It's my hate for him, flowing through me,' she informs me.

I was never keen on Oasis. Sure, there were a few bangers there that I respected but it was all he played, and it made him look like some strange middle-aged fanboy. I always thought it a little hypocritical when he was a southerner, too. He should surely have an allegiance to Blur. I know I did.

‘I don't think I can hear another Oasis song again,' I tell my sister. ‘That makes me feel bad, though. My impending divorce is not their fault.'

Kate chuckles silently. ‘You and all your bloody empathy. Only you would feel bad for hating someone you've never even met.'

‘ Stop Crying Your Heart Out …'

‘Exactly,' Kate says.

‘No. Just thinking back to when he used to play that song on repeat. Bloody droned on. Hated it.'

We both laugh. Kate catches my eye, studying how lost I really look. For the last month, she's been a real emotional crutch. We've slept in the same bed, she ensured I ate. I think at my very lowest, she helped wash my hair in the bath when I sat there sobbing. She's been amazing at finding words when I've needed them but also knowing when I needed silence to counter all that hurt.

‘Do we need to burn something?' Kate asks me.

‘Like some Oasis CDs?' I tell her.

‘I don't think people own CDs anymore, hon. I was just thinking we needed to do something ceremonial to end your marriage. We can burn something, I could buy some old charity shop plates for you to smash? We could go on a CRUISE!'

She seems very excited by the cruise. I shake my head. People have been full of ideas. Friends have mentioned divorce parties, weekends away, meditation retreats with goats. But really all I've wanted to do is lie down in a comfortable tracksuit and stare at a ceiling. It is all so new, so fresh. I just don't know how to fix any of it.

Kate examines my face. ‘Zoe. I can't tell you how the next few months will pan out, but you'll be back at work in a few weeks so at least you'll have some routine, distraction. And whenever it gets tough, you chuck those kids in a car and you come and see me, yeah? Neil and I have said it's an open house. It will be an Oasis-free zone.'

I nod, quietly, emotion close to edging into tears. ‘Am I allowed to say that I'm scared, Kate?'

She grabs my hand over that blanket. ‘It's allowed. He's not just hurt you. He's taken your self-esteem, your kindness and shat all over it. I will never forgive that shitspoon for that – never. And if I ever see that woman who was supposed to be your friend, I will have her.' If they were both here now, I have no doubt Kate would glass them with her wine goblet.

The friend's name is Liz. We used to go on spa days together. I made her a lasagne once when her mum passed away. She's tried to reach out via text. I didn't reply. Kate replied on my behalf with a singular middle finger emoji.

‘Like a proper fight?' I ask Kate.

‘I've seen her picture. She wouldn't stand a chance,' she tells me confidently.

I go quiet again. Do I want to hurt her? I want to shame her, both of them. I wish they would bring back scarlet letters. They've both acted terribly without thought for anyone else. My initial thoughts are sadness, rage, fantasies where I bump into them and just unload all my feelings onto them in a classy, non-violent manner that would make the crowd cheer. That would never happen, though. If I was faced with them now, I'd crumble and cry and roll into a ball on the floor. What has happened is so seismic. I just don't know how to cope, how to survive, how to move on from any of it.

‘What will I do without you?'

‘Survive. I have every faith. It's just the start of another chapter. I won't let this defeat you. You are too fucking marvellous.'

‘So are you.'

‘This didn't need to be said out loud, we knew this already.'

I nudge her, jokingly. She tops up my glass and stabs a toothpick into a couple of olives.

‘Do you know what this feels like?' I tell her, a feeling darting through me as I realise where I've experienced this loss before.

‘Mildly drunk with a charcuterie board I feel we should have spent more time on.'

‘How so?' I ask.

‘The ones I see on Instagram have salami formed into roses,' she tells me, shaping her hands in the air. I look down at the table. We basically just ripped open packets and dangled the meat in our mouths. It wasn't entirely classy but hell, I don't know what that is anymore. ‘Is that what you meant?'

‘Yes, I was talking about cured meat,' I say, rolling my eyes. ‘I meant, Brian leaving, the impending divorce… it feels like the time Ziggy died.'

‘Ziggy, the dog we had when we were growing up? The one who used to hump the sofa cushions?' Kate asks.

The very one. He was the family dog that existed before I did – a tiny Border Terrier who liked toast crusts and lying at the end of my bed, keeping my feet warm. The sort of pooch that had a very human face, like he was an old man stuck in the body of a dog.

‘I remember when he died, it was the first time I'd experienced grief. This is what this feels like. I feel like I'm grieving, like it's tying my insides in knots. I just need to…'

‘Unravel…' Kate holds me closer. ‘The difference being that Ziggy was the king of dogs whereas Brian is the king of shitspoons.'

‘That's a very inventive term. Shitspoon.'

‘I made it up especially for Brian.'

We both laugh quietly. It was only the two of us growing up and despite the distance and our differing personalities, she's still my person. We gravitate towards each other in times of need, we defend the other to the hilt, we can still sit here quietly and comfortably with each other and drink wine till we both pass out.

‘How do you know someone who works in a sexual health testing laboratory?' I ask her softly.

‘Zumba. She has stories.'

‘I'll bet.'

‘I can seriously leave you her number.'

‘Stick it on the fridge.'

‘That's my girl.'

Jack

I left university eight years ago and, every year since then, my friends and I have attempted some form of annual reunion to try to hold on to that time of our lives and all those precious friendships. In those first years, reunions would involve the pub. Actually, it wasn't just one pub, it was many pubs, and we'd drink and partake in recreational drugs, and dance and basically attempt to recreate our university experiences in Clapham, trying to reclaim the lost vestiges of our youth. I once slept outside a Tesco Metro after one of those reunions. I woke up to find a rat eating the remnants of my chips. Oh, the memories. Looking up at the newbuild house in front of me today, though, I feel like that's not going to happen this time, is it? I do hope there may be chips, though. I gaze at its very shiny red door, the Ring doorbell, the bay trees to either side and do you know what I see? I see adulthood.

‘JACK ATTACK!' Sarah opens the door. I wish she wouldn't call me that anymore, but she does and flings her arms around me, looking vibrant and relaxed in a classy polka dot number. ‘You found it then? Where did you park?'

‘Oh, I walked from the bus stop.' I won't tell her I rang three different doorbells before hers, though, because all the houses on this estate look the same. Behind her, I can see the buzz of this small gathering in full flow. This is not the pub, we're not going to dance, are we? ‘And I also bought you a housewarming gift. It's a money plant,' I tell her, hoisting it into the air. I carried that on a train all the way from London, so she'd better keep it alive.

‘Gorgeous. Come in, come in…' I sense her looking around me to see if I've brought company, but that would be a no. It's just me and the plant.

Sarah and I were on the same course at university and lived together in a shared house. What I liked about her was that she came to university with a boyfriend and left with the same one, so there was no chance to ruin a perfectly good friendship by getting drunk and sleeping with her. She's reliable, sane but very sensible. You feel that she bought this newbuild with money she saved and a plan. We walk through the kitchen, and I wave at said boyfriend, Hakeem, who's wearing oven gloves and balancing serving utensils. This whole place is how I imagined our thirties to look, with its sleek counters and floors, and bifold doors that open out to the garden.

‘Bowie's still going then?' I ask her. I look down. Bowie is her little Shi Tzu who I once dog-sat when she went on holiday and who took a Shi Tzu in my bed, on my pillow. Apparently, that was a sign of love. He looks up at me with curious eyes and I smile down at him.

‘Of course,' she says, picking him up. ‘You remember Uncle Jack, don't you?'

Bowie doesn't show any sign of recognition. Maybe if I left him a gift on his pillow, he might. I head outside, the sun flooding the patio, the furniture clearly straight out of its packaging.

‘JA-AACK!' a chorus of voices chime in harmony and I put my arms in the air to signal that yes, I am here.

‘Beer, mate?' a voice says, and Ed appears next to me, a BrewDog in his hand. If there's one thing I like about being older, it's that the quality of alcohol has improved.

‘Always,' I say, putting an arm around him, relieving him of the beer. It was a university house of six and Ed was another comrade-in-arms, part of our motley crew who used to survive off toast, awful house parties and far too many afternoons watching quiz shows that made us feel clever. We loved Ed because he came to university with a full dinner service that featured six cereal bowls which is basically all we ate out of for two years. The last time I saw Ed was four months ago at his wedding. ‘How's tricks? I am liking this tan on you. You look so healthy.'

‘That's Florida sunshine for you.'

‘Is Mia here?' I ask him, looking around the place, noticing the glimmer of silver on his ring finger.

‘Oh, she's buzzing about…' he says, pointing to some sort of makeshift bar where she seems to be mixing large jugs of something. She spots me and waves animatedly.

‘So… this is it…' I say, looking around this small garden space. Since our days at university, we've all splintered off in different directions, taken on different lives. Some of us moved home, some of us didn't. Sarah was one of those clever sorts who realised she'd get more for her money in Manchester. I inhale deeply. I'd be lying if I didn't say that in the past two or three years, these social gatherings have been more of a comparative exercise in who's the most grown up. Now that we were all thirty or approaching that age, it's an exercise in demonstrating who has achieved the most, who has made the right life decisions. God, I still have trouble working out what shoes to wear most days.

Sarah literally posted a video in our group chat of when she viewed this house. I know that on the stairs, she went for a Slate Sky carpet because she put a poll on our group asking us to vote. I won't lie, I think I may have gone for something with a little more character, but I see the pride in Sarah's face that she has made a nest and it's all hers. In the corner of the garden, a barbeque is in full swing and another of our friends, Rafe, stands there with a tea towel in his back pocket, posing with tongs. I hear him gabbling on about wagyu. I don't mind Rafe, but he went into finance and bought a flat in Canary Wharf, and often sends us pictures of him in yachts. It's only a matter of time before I get so drunk that I tell him I think he's turning into a wanker.

‘She has an ensuite, you know?' Ed says, plainly.

We smile at each other. This was a big thing for Sarah which was probably fuelled from years of having to share a bathroom with people like us who used to steal her toothpaste. There are lots of Sarah touches about the place. She's big on candles, fairy lights, scented crap. There's also a sign in the kitchen. It's a picture of a cheese grater, and underneath it in cursive font BE GRATEFUL. Ed catches me looking and we stare at it together, clutching our beers, one hand in our pockets. It's how a man should stand at a barbeque.

‘Did you buy her that?' I ask. Ed laughs into his beer. To be fair, if anyone is the most grown up in this place, it's young Ed here. Ed who is now married and entered into a legal binding agreement to share his life and worldly possessions with another. ‘So, tell me, mate – how is married life?'

‘Honestly? Pretty much like when we were just living together except we had a big party and I have photos as evidence.'

‘It was a very good party.'

‘I am glad you enjoyed it and many thanks again for the gift. Did you get the thank you card?'

I smile. I did. It was very Ed. Handwritten and very sincere, like his mum had told him to do it. He always had excellent manners.

‘Did anyone else gift you a tree?'

‘No. Mia's sister, who is not entirely pleasant, gave us a CD rack though.'

I laugh under my breath. ‘Retro.'

‘Who's retro?' a voice pipes in. Mia reaches out to greet me with a warm embrace and then puts her husband's arm around her shoulder.

‘The music choice,' I say. We all stop for a moment. It's Riptide by Vance Joy which Sarah played on repeat at university.

‘I once had a boyfriend who used to play this on guitar to me. He'd serenade me after sex,' Mia reminisces.

Ed looks at her strangely. ‘And this was something you enjoyed? Do I need to sing to you after sex now?'

‘Christ, no. It was desperately cringe. Just roll over and sleep, you twat. He thought he was a bit special, spliff hanging out of his mouth, a guitar covering his junk. It was not a special moment.'

There's good energy between Ed and Mia, the way the conversation flows, the humour. Sarah appears next to us with a tray of canapés. ‘I MADE THESE!' she announces, excitedly. And even though I joke about this house and this life she has, it is hugely endearing to see her so enthusiastic about it all.

‘What are they, lovely?' I ask.

‘They're cucumber sushi roll thingies,' she tells us, and we all take one and bite into them, politely. I nod at her to indicate my approval and she links an arm through mine. That's the one thing about Sarah. I tease her mercilessly, but she's always held me close and looked out for me.

‘I thought you were bringing your new girlfriend today,' she moans at me.

‘New?' I say, a little confused. Ed and Mia lean in to find out more.

‘Imogen?' Sarah says. ‘The girl with the ring in her nose.'

‘You make her sound like a bull,' I tell Sarah, nabbing another of her canapés. ‘Sarah, we kinda called that quits in February. I saw you at Ed's wedding anyway. I was there alone. Keep up, love…'

‘Well, you know. It's hard to keep up,' she jokes and Ed smirks.

Ed knows the reason I broke it off with Imogen was because I didn't get her twelve red roses for Valentine's Day, and she wrote me a very long WhatsApp message voicing her disappointment and outlining her future expectations on days of note in the calendar. One of the bullet points in her outline told me that one of those expectations involved me taking a week off on and around her birthday in October so I could dedicate my time to her.

‘Well, my dear, we can't all be as lucky as you in love and life.'

‘Any other prospects on the horizon?' she asks me. Sarah does this a lot. I don't think she does it to be cruel but rather out of concern. It's an all-encompassing question meant to enquire about my life in general.

‘I've met a contortionist called Phoenix and we've joined a Hungarian travelling circus.'

She looks at me and shakes her head. ‘And what will you do in this circus?' she asks.

‘Lion taming, bit of juggling.'

Sarah huddles into me, rolling her eyes. ‘More the clown.' We were both botanists at university and she left and went straight into a job in academia. I abandoned plants for family. It led to a variety of jobs, a house share and a string of makeshift relationships. I think she worried about me in that way, that I was off course, which meant I hadn't worked out what life was yet. I worried less and just lived life my way. It wasn't a linear journey, but I was fine.

‘I mean, you'll get us in for free though, right? I love a circus,' Ed enquires.

‘For sure.'

‘Are you still in your house share?' Sarah asks. ‘Last time I went there, there was a DJ mixing desk in the bathroom.'

‘I am. I live with Ben and Frank, and we like a bit of techno when we're taking a…'

Sarah puts a hand to the air.

‘BATH! When I'm taking a bath. You really think I'm quite uncouth, don't you?'

She shakes her head at me, laughing. ‘But seriously, where are you working at the moment?' Sarah asks. ‘Are you still an escort?'

Mia's eyes widen, choking on the bottle of beer she had put to her mouth.

‘Not that sort of escort. I was a security escort. I used to drive an armoured vehicle. It paid very well.' And I won't lie, I liked the uniform. It made me look really hard. I don't say that out loud. I also don't say that I was petrified of what would happen if anyone ever tried to hold up our van. I'd have likely shat myself. ‘I am just temping in a call centre for now. Pays the bills, you know?'

I don't say that with any shame. Work is work, but I can sense some disappointment in all their eyes that I should be doing more. They were all there when we graduated. They knew what happened and why I had to give up my own life for a while to help those I loved, but I think they always hoped I'd get back on track eventually.

‘Sarah, I can see you silently judging me,' I tell her.

‘I'm not… I'm just… How are Dom and the boys?'

Sarah always asks about Dom and the boys, my nephews, and secretly, I like how she's invested in them and understands the very closeness of our relationship.

‘They're good.' I get out my phone to show them my screensaver. It's the four of us at Thorpe Park. It was quite possibly one of the best days out ever because there were no queues, so we got to go on most of the rides at least four times. However, given Sarah's line of questioning, I feel that might be too juvenile an admission to make.

I take another of her canapés. ‘You never give Rafe the Spanish inquisition…'

Sarah turns her back to the barbeque. ‘That's because we like you more. You're our little Jack Attack. We humour Rafe because we've known him for so long, but that jackass will be fine. We just want you to…'

‘Sarah, you sound like my mum.'

She shakes her head and stuffs another canapé in my mouth.

‘I think what they're asking is whether you're happy,' Mia intervenes, looking confused at some of the detail of the conversation. ‘I don't know you well enough but you're happy, yeah?'

I nod. ‘I know you all think that I don't have any direction. I still live in a house share, I have no career, no girlfriend. But I'm good, you know? Worry about things that matter. Climate change, that's bloody awful.'

‘We worry because we love you,' Sarah tells us.

‘I love you, too. It's why I came all the way to Manchester. Despite that really ridiculous sign in your kitchen…' I jest.

‘Hakeem's mum gave that to us. I am obliged to display it,' Sarah whispers out of the corner of her mouth and we all laugh. There've been far too many reunions in these past years, too much time spent together, too many moments and shared jokes for us not to be friends anymore. Maybe, secretly, I love that they care.

‘Hey, if you were thinking of a career change – our school is desperate for supply teachers. I think it's just short-term contracts but…' Mia tells me.

Ed bobs his head from side to side. ‘It's an option. Pay is decent. You taught English for a while, you'd be a shoo-in. Plus, you'd get to see us every day.'

I smile. ‘I'm not sure that's a selling point, mate.'

He laughs but it does trigger something in me. I wasn't an awful teacher, and I can handle kids. It would possibly be more interesting than the call centre where I have to hide my teabags and people shout at me a lot despite not knowing me. Perhaps a change is needed. Again. Ed and Mia seem to thrive in what they do and they found each other through teaching so maybe it's something to consider.

‘DM me some details?' I tell Ed who puts a thumb up at me.

‘Well, I think that would be amazing! You'd be so good at that, Jack,' Sarah says, enthusiastically.

I shift her a look. ‘But what about the circus? I'm expected in Budapest. The lions…' I joke.

Ed laughs. ‘He'd just be moving to a different type of circus, that's all. I think the kids would love you. Everyone loves you.'

I smile at all of them, looking down at little Bowie dry-humping my leg. Maybe.