Chapter 11

After dinner, Frank rolls up his sleeves and mucks in with the washing up while Tom and Theo carry on getting bladdered at the dining table. He's the perfect guest, the perfect boyfriend. Everyone likes him, which makes me want to stick pins in my flesh.

By the time Linda serves coffee and the lemon drizzle, Frank has everyone hanging on his every word. He lays on the Frank charm thickly as I sit there nursing a glass of wine, rolling my eyes inwardly at everything he says – he was born and raised in Bristol, used to be a social worker, quit because he found it upsetting – always loved sports, plays five-a-side every Sunday and can swim like a fish. His parents urged him to take up swimming professionally but…

At this point, I stop listening and pull my phone out of my bag. There's a message from Daisy – she's finished packing all her stuff – I'm to text her when we're ready to go. After I told her she could move in tonight, she insisted on picking us up. I declined, of course, she barely knows her way around London. But then Tom got involved, didn't he, got her to download Google Maps. He even punched in Theo and Linda's address for her – anything to save a few quid.

I scroll through my messages to the babble of Frank's annoying voice. No reply to my earlier text to Georgia, which she's clearly read because the words seen are set in grey beneath my message. I start typing.

‘But then, three years ago, my girlfriend passed away suddenly,' Frank says loudly. I whip my head up, phone in hand. He didn't tell me about a deceased girlfriend. The table falls silent and we all gawp at him helplessly.

‘I'm really sorry to hear that, Frank,' I say, setting my phone face down on the table. No one deserves that. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I lost Tom and I feel physically sick. ‘It must've been a difficult time,' I offer. My husband murmurs my sentiments, and Frank thanks us, eyes sliding to Tom's arm that he's just slung around my shoulder.

‘She must've been so young,' Linda comments, resting her elbows on the table, head inclined.

‘Nina was forty-eight,' Frank says to his wedge of lemon drizzle cake in front of him, shoulders slumped. ‘We had a twenty-two-year age gap, but age means nothing,' he insists, and everyone murmurs in agreement. Clearly, he likes the older woman. For a moment I wonder if he has temper tantrums and lashes out because he's still traumatised by Nina's death.

‘That really sucks, man.' Theo shakes his head, as Zelda pats Frank's back as if she's burping a baby.

Frank blushes, throws me a look. ‘Thanks, everyone, you're all so kind,' he says in his whispery tone, ‘but I'm fine – honestly. She meant a lot to me…' Frank's voice cracks and I tell him to stop, that he doesn't have to talk about it.

‘Thanks, Bella,' he sniffs, wiping a tear from his eye with his index finger. ‘It's still very hard. Nina was a beautiful soul, you know?' Shaking my head, I lean into Tom, curling a hand around his thigh, and he cuddles me warmly, his warm body melting into mine. ‘But I've got Zelda now.' My stomach tightens. Not for long if I've got anything to do with it. ‘Nina's death made me re-evaluate everything, showed me how short life is. I'm grateful for every day now.' Pausing, he forks a piece of cake. ‘This is delicious, Linda. Almost as good as Zelda's.'

Linda gives me a look depicting if you say anything you're dead. ‘It was nothing, really. Alexa recited the recipe to me and I just followed along,' she says in a singy voice. Tom opens his mouth to protest and I squeeze his knee under the table, shoving a piece of cake into my mouth, and, taking the bait, he praises Linda for her extraordinary baking skills.

‘Mmm…yummy,' Theo says, chewing. ‘Well done, Hun. I keep telling her she should go on Bake Off.' Theo and I exchange knowing glances. He's a pretty good liar. I'm impressed.

We spend the next few moments devouring our cake in silence. Silver forks scrape against china. Linda's bangles chime on her wrist as she reaches for the bottle of wine. Polly meows by Theo's chair. I stab my last forkful, eyeing the rest of the cake on the stand. Frank's right, it is delicious. Stress always makes me crave sugary foods. Another piece won't do any harm—a thin slice. I'll start my diet tomorrow.

‘Anyone else for seconds?' I pick up the silver cake slicer. ‘Linda, this is so more…'

‘Actually, you look very familiar,' Frank cuts across me. Linda snaps her head up and looks at me like a deer in headlights. My heart stops, cake slicer in mid-air, mouth agape. ‘I think we've met before.' Shit. He's recognised her.