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target="_blank" rel="nofollow" href="#ulink_22fc4fc7-8061-511a-929f-5425116bd031"> Mr and Mrs Sinclair

      ‘Bye-bye, Mr Sinclair,’ said Alice over a cup of strong coffee, struggling to counteract the light-headed nausea that a night of jet-lagged semi-sleep had caused, ‘hurry home to me, won’t you?’

      ‘Of course, darling,’ said Mark, kissing the top of her head, grabbing a slice of toast, his jacket and his briefcase. ‘I’m horrendously late, I really must go.’

      ‘Don’t!’ Alice implored plaintively. ‘Please bunk off! Go on, I dare you. Phone in sick or something. Please stay. I don’t want you to go. You could work from home! I’ve had you all to myself for a fortnight – I don’t want to be alone.’

      Mark smiled at his wife, gazing at him all wide-eyed and winsome despite the bags around her eyes and her hair all mussed up. ‘Why don’t you go in yourself?’ he asked.

      ‘Because I don’t have to!’ Alice remonstrated. ‘I’m not due in until tomorrow. Anyway, John Lewis are coming with all our wedding-list goodies.’

      ‘Give Thea a call,’ Mark suggested.

      ‘Already have – it’s her day off but she doesn’t seem to be at home,’ Alice said with contrived petulance.

      ‘Why not go and register with some estate agents?’ Mark kissed the top of her head again. ‘I must go.’

      ‘Will you phone me?’ Alice pleaded. ‘Don’t you miss me already?’

      ‘Alice,’ said Mark, happily exasperated, ‘have a shower, get dressed, go to Sainsbury’s, track down Thea, sign your flat up for sale with Benham and Reeves and put our wish-list out to all agents covering NW3 and N6. Three bedrooms, garden, no galley kitchens or PVC windows.’ He blew her a kiss and left. He floated down the escalator at Belsize Park and grinned intermittently while the Northern Line took him and a packed carriage of scowling commuters to Moorgate. How nice to have a wife, a beautiful wife, who clung to his shirt-tails begging him to play hooky from work to stay with her. Alice Heggarty had married him, was sending him to work with a kiss and would be waiting for him to come home later – could life be much sweeter? Mark arrived at the office, answered his PA’s misty-eyed questions about his wedding and honeymoon, checked his diary, noted there were 288 emails in his in-box, rescheduled the lunch that was booked, set up two meetings for before lunch and three for the afternoon and called his team to the boardroom for an update. His PA made a note to buy him sandwiches because she knew he’d be too busy to remember to eat otherwise.

      Alice did as she was told. She had a shower, dressed, went to the supermarket and phoned estate agents. She also continued to call Thea but her mobile phone was off and there was still no answer at her home. It had been warm and welcoming to return to a sweetly scented apartment, fresh linen and neat piles of post, a fridge stocked with necessities, and Alice now longed to see Thea, to thank her at the very least. She was also tiring of her own company. Alice had never been a disciple of the cult of Me-Time though the magazines she published frequently extolled it as a necessary indulgence. Alice functioned best in company, an audience even. Peace, quiet and solitude were overrated, in Alice’s book. If one had time on one’s hands, why not spend it wisely in company – the return was far greater than silent navel-gazing home alone. If Thea still wasn’t in, maybe she would go into work for the afternoon. She dialled Thea’s mobile again.

      ‘Hullo?’

      ‘Thea! Where the fuck have you been – I’ve been trying you for ages! I’m back!’

      ‘Alice! Alice! Oh my God, how are you? How’s Mark? I’ve missed you! Did you get upgraded again?’

      ‘First Class – but I’m still jet lagged which I think is outrageous. Wait till you see my tan. Amazing place – you must go. God, I have so much to tell you – shall I come over right now?’

      ‘Um.’

      ‘Thea?’

      ‘I’m – a bit, busy.’

      ‘When, then?’

      ‘Um.’

      ‘Hang on – doing what? Busy doing what? You usually chill out on your day off – you and your me-time. Well, have your me-time with me! It feels like ages since I saw you – I’m an old married woman! Wait till you hear about First Class!’

      ‘Er …’

      ‘Is it your tax return? Fuck it – it can wait! I can’t!’

      ‘Alice—’

      ‘What’s that?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘That! In the background. I can hear someone – is there someone there? There is someone there. I can hear a bloke?’

      ‘Er …’

      ‘Thea! Thea! Tell me, you cow! Why am I whispering? I can hear a man! Can I? Can I hear a man in your flat?’

      ‘I’m not in my flat.’

      ‘Where are you? Are you in a bloke’s flat? Thea!’

      ‘Yes. Yes, I am.’

      ‘Who, tell me, who!’

      ‘Saul.’

      ‘Who the hell is Saul! Oh my God, who the fuck is Saul!’

      ‘My boyfriend.’

      ‘Your boyfriend? You don’t have a boyfriend! Who the hell is Saul? You’re meant to be seeing Mark’s American cousin. You’re going to marry him and then we can be related sort of. I’ve been planning so all honeymoon. You don’t have a boyfriend. Thea! Since when?’

      ‘Since yesterday.’

      ‘Stop giggling! What are you talking about, woman? I don’t understand. What do you mean since yesterday? A boyfriend called Saul? I have to see you!’

      ‘I’ll come to you later, Alice. In a couple of hours, say.’

      ‘A couple of hours? I can’t wait that long!’

      ‘You’ll have to. I haven’t even got out of bed, let alone showered.’

      ‘Thea, for Christ’s sake! Promise you’ll be here in a couple of hours then? No more than three, tops. I can’t wait. I can’t wait! Saul? I don’t know a Saul! And up until my wedding, neither did you.’

      Alice had wisely anticipated that returning home from honeymoon would be a comedown, that jet lag would drag her down lower, that her wedding day would seem a dream ago. However, apart from the January magazines already replacing the Christmas issues though it was still December, she hadn’t expected any other changes. In fact, sitting with a cup of tea, waiting for Thea to help her unpack the wedding gifts towering in John Lewis boxes around her, Alice admitted that she had been depending on everything being exactly as she’d left it a fortnight before. She had wanted her world to wait and to long for her return, to crave photos and Technicolor detail of her interlude in St Lucia. She hadn’t expected the world to stop turning but she had hoped it might revolve around her for a little while longer. She was, after all, still the blushing bride, the newly-wed, just married, just home from honeymoon; she had hoped to enjoy the status for at least a few more days yet.

      Alice couldn’t work out how Thea had gone off and found a boyfriend when she hadn’t even been looking for one in the first place. How could this have happened when she hadn’t been around to advise her? Thea Luckmore had never been one for the thrill of strangers. So who on earth was this Saul person?

      ‘How did she manage to do it without me?’ Alice wondered aloud and then listened to how awful that sounded. ‘Not that I’m her chaperone,’ she murmured quickly, unpacking some boxes from John Lewis and wondering if it would be all right to do thank-you notes on the computer, ‘it’s just I’ve always known

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