If I Never Met You: Chapter 16

Outwardly, Laurie went to work, she was in reasonable spirits, she was as efficient as ever. In her private life, she looked busy enough to be respectable. Not falling apart.

Laurie was coping, only in ways that made other people feel comfortable. It was a performance, going through the motions. She was as empty and as fragile as an Easter egg. The truth lay in moments like the Thursday evening where she found the box of photo albums under the bed in the spare room. She leafed through a packet of photos from 2005 and ended up crouching, sobbing, feeling as if she’d been stabbed.

She’d never grieved for anyone close to her, but she guessed this must be similar: times when the tide went out and she felt almost normal, and times when it came rushing in and she felt like she was drowning.

It dawned on Laurie—other than the pictures he had on his phone, Dan had taken nothing of sentimental value with him.

Only a few short months ago, she’d have thought that spelled intention to return. Ha. Nope. The hard copy visual record of their nearly two decades together, casually discarded.

She knew if she challenged Dan he’d weakly insist he had every intention of sorting through and asking for duplicates, but it wasn’t the time / didn’t want to upset her / couldn’t complicate the painful business of his going by divvying up their mementoes. HAH. As if starting a family with another woman wasn’t the mother lode, no pun, of painful complications. What if wanting to take photos might’ve given Laurie some comfort that he still cared, and that might’ve mattered, and he should’ve taken them for that reason alone.

, she instructed herself, as she took the lid off. She’d glance and look away, she told herself. She opened the envelope packet on top. An Ark of the Covenant for her emotions. Laurie was probably going to do the skin-melting, screaming-CGI-skeleton thing, as unleashing the evil spirits of the past overcame her.

The first pack was pretty much the most poignant she could’ve encountered.

Their impromptu staycation at the Midland.

They’d been getting their kitchen done, and it had taken forever thanks to inadvertently hiring the greatest cowboys in the northwest to install it. Their story ended in the small claims court, because don’t fuck with two lawyers at once. Laurie had almost lost her mind after nineteen days with a room that resembled a war zone, with bags of crisps for dinner and being fed a daily diet of lies.

While she curled fetal, Dan had gone off, made a call, and surprised her by saying, “Pack a bag for two nights away,” before bundling her into a taxi.

They’d pulled up minutes later outside the imposing entrance of Manchester’s fanciest, Grade II listed grand hotel. Laurie had always hankered after a night there.

Dan had explained the circumstances when booking, so they were upgraded to a suite, the floor space as large as a penthouse flat.

“Can we afford this?” Laurie said, bedazzled, as Dan handed her a glass from the complimentary bottle of cava.

“Yeah, ish,” Dan said. “Worth it for the look on your face alone.”

It was an amazing forty-eight hours, after the chaos and despair of , and being coated in brick dust.

Sitting in a palatial king-size bed, eating room service chips, and giggling like a pair of kids at a sleepover. It was Dan at his best: spontaneous, generous, and caring.

Laurie held one of the floppy rectangles depicting the episode, Dan pointing to the toilet in their colossal hotel bathroom, pulling a “what the hell” face. They took a series of photos like this of the lavish fixtures and fittings, in poses usually seen in local papers by people upset about potholes, which seemed hilarious when half drunk.

The last in the set was Dan and Laurie checking out, standing by the ball-of-lilies flower display in the lobby, Dan holding the camera above their heads, hugging Laurie to him tightly. A team. A duo. Best friends. Turning adversity into an adventure. Dan looked so pleased with himself and Laurie looked so happy.

She limped downstairs and lay on the sofa and let the sadness and desolation wash over her for the thousandth time.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her phone screen ripple with a message. More cascaded down, blip—blip—blip. It was a WhatsApp group she was in, titled “Claire’s Baby Shower” for its original purpose, though that baby was now two.

Claire and Phil were successful Chorlton friends, along with Ed and Erica, and Tom and Preethi, the people they socialized with most as a couple. Laurie had expected more messages of condolences from them; she knew they knew as Dan had bumped into Tom, told him, and told Laurie he’d told him. And she’d had the creep DMs from Adrian: news traveled invisibly and fast.

She only got a text from Claire saying awful for her and was she OK and the usual things, and Laurie replied she was gutted but coping, thank you, and Claire didn’t reply to that one.

Laurie didn’t entirely mind, but registered it was slightly dismissive.

The messages carried on pinging at hectic speed and Laurie roused herself to pick her handset up. She lurched at the sight of her own name. It took a fraction of a second to tell it was being typed in a tone and manner that clearly wasn’t meant to be seen by her, the owner of the name.

☹

Ugh.

. Laurie felt grimly vindicated in her previous low level grumbling dislike of Claire. She was a Stepford Wife, basically, but coated it in lots of twenty-first-century, faux-feminist, socially-acceptable concern trolling. So, instead of “Why aren’t you home to make Dan’s dinner?” it was “It must be hard on you working those hours, do you do Sunday batch cooking? I have a great dhal recipe,” looking only at Laurie.

And Laurie had also noticed men got different treatment from Claire. She claimed once as a yummy mummy, she liked polo necks so much as “If you pause while your head is stuck inside it, putting it on, you get a few seconds’ peace!” and Dan had guffawed and said, “Smell of burning martyr!”

If Laurie had said that, . She’d get some icy response about not understanding the fatigue until you had one. Claire merely simpered and batted Dan’s arm.

At Claire and Phil’s, men did the jokes and women talked shop(ping).

☹

A minute after her gut-wrenching bewilderment at how they could be conducting this dissection of her, in front of her, Laurie sussed exactly how it had happened. She’d been included in the original baby shower team, but it had been so long since she replied, they thought they were a trio.

Right there was the answer why she’d gotten such minimal sympathy: she’d not played the game properly. Laurie turned up at their houses often enough, she’d had them around to hers. But in the digital age equivalent of nattering over the garden fence, she’d never pretended to be interested in Claire’s daughter’s tongue-tie, or Pri’s luxury shed-slash–summer house.

Not least because she had a job where she spent hours in courtrooms with her phone on silent. Not being interested in social media made you seem aloof these days, except Laurie wasn’t aloof, just busy and slightly baffled by it.

☺

Classic Claire: using the fact she’d had three kids to tell everyone about her sex life (the detailed circumstances of conception of each always discussed as if she was merely telling you where she got her nails done).

Laurie had been coping, almost, with this involuntary ringside seat, but the baby chat was more than she could stand.

She paused and checked.

Yeah, you have been seen, and found wanting.

They would now be setting up a Laurieless group in record time, titled HOLY SHIT. She was sure they’d bond over this story of their terrible gaffe and take it on tour around Chorlton, once the agony of it subsided. Laurie thought, She left the group.

It was very obvious they’d chosen Dan as the survivor. After a polite interval, it would be Dan and Megan praising their Ottolenghi cauliflower dish and admiring the bifold doors on the extension. Dan had a new partner and a baby on the way, he wasn’t a single, spiky anomaly , she heard Jamie say. Yep. They’d left her to the floodwaters.

Laurie opened Facebook and removed Dan from her “In a Relationship With” status, a task which felt teenaged and yet necessary. She forced herself to check and, what a surprise, he’d done that first.

She was glad of a WhatsApp message from Jamie Carter, confirming arrangements for Saturday.

Concluding: “Also, do you have something new to wear? All helps to create disorientation in the mind of the male ex.”

Hmmm. An echo of how Laurie felt when Dan presented in his shiny green bomber jacket.

☺

Laurie gave a grudging small smile.

Everyone was talking about her anyway. She’d give them something to talk about.