The Divorce Club (7 page)

"It's beautiful here. I can't believe we're
still on London," I say before I can help myself.

Jamie laughs. "Trust me, I was even more
surprised when my estate agent found this place."

"Clearly, we're not sharing the same agent."
I lock the car and follow him inside into a spacious hall with bay
windows and tile flooring. In the middle, a staircase leads to the
first floor. Two abstract paintings adorn the wall. It's all so
simple and yet so stylish.

Jamie takes my coat and hangs it up inside a
hidden wardrobe, then gives me a brief viewing of the ground floor,
including the state-of-the-art kitchen, the groomed back garden and
his office. The office alone is as large as my bedroom. I begin to
see him with different eyes, which triggers my self-consciousness.
He might not be a millionaire, but he isn't living off benefits
either. It makes me wonder what kind of woman he goes for. I
imagine Chloe to be tall like a model with blonde hair and blue
eyes, unnaturally long, shapely legs and a constant pout. And then
I notice a picture frame showing a dark-haired, petite woman
snuggled up against a younger Jamie. They're both laughing at the
camera, a glint playing in their eyes.

"Is this Chloe?" I ask, tracing my index
finger on the silver border.

Nodding, Jamie clears his throat and turns
over the picture.

"She looks different from what I imagined," I
continue, unfazed by his sudden interest to move back to the living
room.

"She was a bit of a tomboy back then," Jamie
says as though that'd explain everything. "Coffee or tea?"

I'm not ready to drop the topic yet. "How did
you meet?"

"We've kind of always known each other. I
think you like your coffee black."

"Yes, black's perfect. Thank you." I follow
him to the kitchen. "How did you get together?"

"It kind of happened." He grabs two desert
plates and cutlery, then opens the fridge and retrieves a cardboard
box with a chocolatier logo. It's all so clean and polished, not
the bachelor pad I expected at all. "I hope you like cheesecake."
He winks. "It's homemade."

He's making fun of my brownies, but I won't
hold it against him and decide to ignore the remark. "I love
cheesecake, thank you. So it wasn't love at first sight?"

"Heck, no." Jamie snorts and cuts off two
slices of the bought cheesecake with whipped cream. "I'm glad
you're not on a diet like the rest of the female world."

Now's my turn to snort. "Oh, I was one of
those constantly dieting women until a few months ago. When I
stopped trying the pounds started to come off. Funny what a divorce
can do to your waistline. Let's get back to Chloe and you, though.
How come she moved out?"

"She didn't." Jamie carries a tray with our
plates and coffee to the living room and sinks into the plush
charcoal sofa next to me, then hands me a plate. "I bought this
place a while back."

I dip my fork into the cake and push a chunk
into my mouth, thinking. "You bought this place while you were
still married? You said she lives nearby."

Jamie nods. "A few minutes from here."

"That close? That's not good."

"Why?"

I swallow and regard him. "Because you'll get
weak once she starts wanting to patch things up. We'll have to get
you surveillance. My reputation depends on my success rate."

Jamie grins. "You could pop over to check on
me." Is he coming onto me? I put down my fork and stare at him, but
he just shrugs. "Hey, it's your job to make sure I'm not relapsing.
How could I not relapse when I live all by myself in this big house
with no one to talk to?"

"Weekends and evenings are particularly
hard," I say.

"I'm glad you're here. May I pinch you to see
if I'm dreaming?" Jamie's voice is low and hoarse. He
is
flirting, there's no doubt about it. Time to change the
subject.

"Did you put up the picture in the
office?"

"What?"

I take a sip of my coffee to moisten my dry
lips. "The picture I just saw. You must've put it up even though
you're separated."

"You're right. I'll get rid of it." Jamie
rubs his temple. "Look, can we just drop it for a moment? I don't
want to talk about her."

"But that's why I'm here," I protest. "As you
said, it's my job to help you get through your divorce."

"You're helping me already by just being
here. So talk about anything your heart desires...anything but
her."

"Okay."

We finish the cake in silence, then Jamie
asks me about Sam.

"How come you don't have kids?" I ask.

That strange, distant stare of his, and he
bottles up again. "Once I meet the woman of my dreams and marry
her, I'll think about kids. Until then—" He trails off.

"But you tied the knot already. Don't you
marry someone because you want kids with them?"

Jamie sighs. "Possibly."

The doorbell rings and Jamie jumps up a
little too eager as though he's happy for the diversion. For the
umpteenth time I'm wondering why he's so reluctant to talk about
his marriage. He joined the club to pluck up the courage to sort
out his life, yet he doesn't seem very keen on it.

The sound of a female voice carries over, but
I can't make out the words. I tune out, only to gasp a second
later. Jamie said Chloe lives nearby. Could she be the unannounced
visitor? Tip-toing to the door, I strain to listen.

"This is a bad time, Chloe," Jamie says.

"Why? Do you have someone over?" A brief
female laugh, then, "No! You do. Oh my God, I don't believe
it."

"Go away."

Chloe says something too low to understand. I
know exactly how poor Jamie feels. He's trapped, both emotionally
and physically. Pushing her away after spending so many years
together doesn't come naturally, and so he keeps quiet, hiding his
frustration behind feeble attempts at asking her to leave, which
she doesn't take seriously. It must be a pattern, he sending her
messages and she not acknowledging them. I snap into professional
mode, because that's what he signed up.

"You must be Chloe," I say as I walk toward
them, holding out my hand. "I'm Sarah."

Chloe gazes at me for a moment, then shakes
it lightly, surprised. "You know who I am?"

"Jamie's told me so much about you." My laugh
sounds superficial, alien in my ears.

"I hope he left out the bad things," Chloe
says.

Jamie grabs my upper arm and gives it a light
squeeze as he pulls me back from the door. "Actually, Chloe was
about to leave, weren't you?"

I see how he squints at her. He's sending
another message, but will she listen? Holding my breath, I peer at
her and notice how she glances from Jamie to me and then back to
Jamie. She could be starting to shout and swear any second now, but
at least a minute passes and nothing happens. Whatever she's
thinking she's doing a great job at keeping her composure.

Eventually she winks and says, "Talk to you
later, then. It was nice meeting you, Sarah."

"My pleasure," I say as she walks down the
path, then disappears from sight. Jamie slams the door, jaw set,
and accompanies me back to the living room.

I touch his forearm. "Are you okay?"

Jamie nods. "Just a bit shaken. Listen, why
don't we go to the cinema tomorrow? I don't feel like being on my
own."

Pulling back, I brush imaginary fuzz from my
jeans. "Uh, sure, why not?"

"Great. I'll pick you up. Let's say
seven?"

I cock my head and shoot him a doubtful
glance because I don't like where this is going. My heartbeat
speeds up again. I must be imagining things. As a single divorcee,
talking to men seems weird and awkward, but one of them actually
showing interest is too much for me. It's not that I don't find him
attractive; it's just that I'm not like I used to be when I dated
Greg. My body's changed after giving birth, and I'm no longer the
happy-go-lucky twenty-something whose only responsibility is to
ensure she doesn't miss the after-Christmas sale. Besides, I
haven't dated in years. What do women wear nowadays? How are they
supposed to behave around men? I don't want to do this and yet I
hear myself say, "Maybe a bit earlier, or I'll have to find a
babysitter."

"Why doesn't Sam come along?" Jamie jumps up
and retrieves a remote control, then presses a button. A glass
window slides open on the other side of the wall, revealing a huge
plasma TV. I wonder whether he's about to fall into a motionless TV
coma now to signal the end of the conversation when a cultural
webpage pops up. "She's thirteen, isn't she?"

"Yes." So I was imagining things. He's just
lonely and trying to amass a clique after Chloe persuaded all their
friends to take her side. I clear my throat and peer at the various
film titles as he scrolls through them.

"This sounds like something she might like."
Grinning, he highlights a title and I nod even though I'm not
paying attention. Unless, he's bipolar or overplaying his true
feelings, how can he change moods so quickly? "We could go to
McDonald's
afterwards. Kids like that."

"She's more into pizza," I say.

"Pizza, then."

"I've got to go. Thanks for the coffee and
cake." Grabbing my bag, I jump up and head for the door without
waiting for his reply.

He catches up with me before I've even
reached the hall. "Oh, come on. You just got here."

"You're not ready for this."

"I'm not ready for what?"

Sighing, I turn to face him. "For the club,
for my services. What else?"

"Oh." He seems taken aback, even contrite, as
though it's not what he wanted to hear. "Sarah—"

"Yes?" Our gazes lock. For a brief moment I
hold my breath, waiting for what he has to say.

Jamie breaks off first. "Thanks for sorting
things out with Chloe. I really appreciate it. She might've made a
scene without you here. I'm so grateful you saved me from
that."

"It's my job, but you're welcome." A pang of
regret hits me. What did I expect? That he'd ask because he wants
me? The guy is off limits; I knew it all along. But that he
shouldn't find me attractive, not even in the slightest, still
hurts. "Maybe you should work things out with Chloe. She seems like
a nice person." I've no idea why I said that because I don't mean
it.

Jamie just smiles and opens the door,
accompanying me to the car. "See you at six then. Don't forget to
text me the address."

I nod and get in, then start the engine and
drive away even though I don't want to leave.

Sam calls on time for a change. I know she's
hiding something from the fake cheerfulness in her voice. She's not
usually this friendly. Ever since Greg and I split up she's been
riding an emotional rollercoaster. I wish she could just get off
soon, but I don't expect it to happen before she turns
nineteen.

I didn't exaggerate when I told Jamie
weekends and evenings are the worst for a sudden divorcee. Too bad
today falls under both categories. I switch on the TV and
channel-hop in the hope of finding something that doesn't involve a
loved-up couple or procreating college students, but let's face it,
TV was invented with the only purpose to make us singles feel bad
about our lives. Eventually, I give up and snuggle on the sofa with
a new Lee Child book. I'm not into FBI work and murder cases, but
at least I know I won't be finding any wooing or romantic
entanglement in here, so I keep reading until I fall asleep with
the lights still on.

Someone bangs on the door. I sit up groggily
and peer at the watch. It's past midnight. My head's spinning as
though I've slept in the same position for too long and my heart's
thumping hard. Holding my breath, I tiptoe to the window and peer
behind the drawn curtains. From here I can usually see anyone
standing at the front door, but it's too dark to recognize more
than a black, large shape. The floodlight's been malfunctioning for
a while now. With no money I couldn't get it fixed.

Who could it be in the middle of the night?
Maybe something happened to Sam. But she'd just unlock the
door…unless she was mugged and the bag's gone. My pulse racing, I
step away from the window and move down the hall to the front door.
The knocking stops and I breathe out, strangely relieved because I
know it can't be Sam. My daughter would be yelling like a maniac
for me to open the door.

I move back to the living room and speed-dial
Sam's number. The line rings a few times before she picks up.

"Are you okay?" I whisper.

"What?" Sam says. In the background I hear
music and voices.

"I said, are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" A brief pause, then,
"Mum, we really need to talk about this. It's called being
overprotective
, you know. Don't turn into a control freak.
Kendra says it's not healthy for either of us."

Since when did Kendra turn into Dr. Phil, the
TV expert in relationship matters? Well, excuse me for making sure
you're not bleeding to death in front of our door, I feel like
saying, but I keep it to myself and infuse some cheeriness into my
voice instead. "Sure, sweetie. We'll do that. I was just checking.
Have a nice evening then."

Without another word, Sam hangs up on me. How
rude. I wonder how
healthy
it'll be for her when I
confiscate her cute little pink phone that I pay for. I take a deep
breath and lean against the sofa cushions, pressing the phone to my
chest. The bushes move outside the window. I jump up with a jolt
and let out a soft shriek. For a moment I consider whether to stay
put and wait to see what happens next, but if it's a burglar doing
nothing won't scare him. So I inch closer to the window, phone
clutched to my chest, and wait there because I don't have the
courage to peer out. It could be a squirrel or a raccoon, even a
fox. Come to think of it, a wild animal couldn't ring the doorbell.
And what's the chance of an animal looming outside the window
seconds after a stranger appears at the door? My brain's such an
idiot for coming up with these lame excuses.