glasses and take them over to the sink.
“Alright?” Sophie asks, brightly. “You and Luke seem to be getting on well.”
I rinse the glasses beneath the tap. “What?”
“You should give him another chance. He misses you, you know? He told Nick he wants you back.”
I pull the dishwasher door open and load the plates into the rack. “I don't think so,” I say, scrunching my nose up. “We're over, he knows that.”
Sophie stops scrubbing the pot, pulling her soap-covered forearms from the suds. “But you don't have to be. Take him back, Amy. That girl meant nothing to him, he was just having a bit of fun.”
I look at Sophie. She's very pretty, in that perfectly made-up, well-dressed way. Her hair is curled, tumbling over her shoulders, and her skin is just the right side of orange. She's a far cry from the tomboy I met at the age of eleven, when she used to play netball like a demon on speed. Nowadays she'd run screaming if you threw a ball at her, scared she might break a nail.
I guess I've changed, too. If you asked her, Sophie would probably say I was a desperately shy eleven-year-old, lurking in the corner with my black hair falling over my face. I was unremarkable, rubbish at sports, nondescript in looks. The only thing I had going for me was a love of numbers.
But now I'm less awkward, and definitely less shy. I'm also not going to put up with being treated like a doormat anymore.
I wonder if breaking up with Luke means losing Sophie, too. Will she think she has to choose between the two of us, as if it's all or nothing?
“I'm not interested.” Even though the boys are talking, I keep my voice low. I realise I need to have this conversation with Luke as well, but there's no way I'm doing it in front of an audience.
“You're being stubborn. Okay, so he messed up, are you really going to throw everything away for that? You've been together for years, Amy. He knows you inside out, he loves you for God's sake.”
“Not enough to be faithful.” If I'm being truly honest, I can feel myself start to waiver. It isn't just Luke I'm splitting up with, but seven years of memories, and a predictable future. Not to mention a whole crowd of shared friends. “It's not the first time, either.”
I say that last bit to remind myself. I can't afford to deviate. If Luke thinks he has the slightest chance, he'll keep pushing until he wins.
“Men stray sometimes. At least Luke loves you and looks after you. He doesn't beat you up, does he?”
This makes me laugh. “No, he's never touched me. But if that's all he's got going for him then he's not much of a catch is he? I mean there are millions of men out there who don't beat up women. I've heard some of them might even manage to keep their dicks zipped in their trousers, too.”
Sophie huffs, shaking her head. “Well, it's your problem. Don't come crying to me when you don't find anything better.”
* * *
The rest of the evening is a quiet affair. After our kitchen sink drama, Sophie barely brings herself to talk to me, concentrating on the boys and hanging on their every word. She listens as Nick complains about his boss at the Ford factory in Dagenham, and when Luke describes a sale he made today I remain silent, sipping my wine and wondering if it would be rude to say I'm tired and ready to go home.
In the end it's Luke who breaks up the evening, reaching his arms above his head in a stretch and yawning loudly. When he brings his arms back down, he reaches one across the back of my chair, the tips of his fingers brushing against my neck.
“You want to share a cab home?” he asks. “I'm going past yours anyway.”
My house is a ten-minute taxi ride from here. I calculate whether we'll be able to say everything that needs to be said in such a short time.
“Uh, yeah, sure. I'll pay half.”
He shrugs. “Whatever.”
The cab arrives and I hug Nick goodbye before pressing my lips against Sophie’s rouged cheek. She smells of Chanel and
“Alright?” Sophie asks, brightly. “You and Luke seem to be getting on well.”
I rinse the glasses beneath the tap. “What?”
“You should give him another chance. He misses you, you know? He told Nick he wants you back.”
I pull the dishwasher door open and load the plates into the rack. “I don't think so,” I say, scrunching my nose up. “We're over, he knows that.”
Sophie stops scrubbing the pot, pulling her soap-covered forearms from the suds. “But you don't have to be. Take him back, Amy. That girl meant nothing to him, he was just having a bit of fun.”
I look at Sophie. She's very pretty, in that perfectly made-up, well-dressed way. Her hair is curled, tumbling over her shoulders, and her skin is just the right side of orange. She's a far cry from the tomboy I met at the age of eleven, when she used to play netball like a demon on speed. Nowadays she'd run screaming if you threw a ball at her, scared she might break a nail.
I guess I've changed, too. If you asked her, Sophie would probably say I was a desperately shy eleven-year-old, lurking in the corner with my black hair falling over my face. I was unremarkable, rubbish at sports, nondescript in looks. The only thing I had going for me was a love of numbers.
But now I'm less awkward, and definitely less shy. I'm also not going to put up with being treated like a doormat anymore.
I wonder if breaking up with Luke means losing Sophie, too. Will she think she has to choose between the two of us, as if it's all or nothing?
“I'm not interested.” Even though the boys are talking, I keep my voice low. I realise I need to have this conversation with Luke as well, but there's no way I'm doing it in front of an audience.
“You're being stubborn. Okay, so he messed up, are you really going to throw everything away for that? You've been together for years, Amy. He knows you inside out, he loves you for God's sake.”
“Not enough to be faithful.” If I'm being truly honest, I can feel myself start to waiver. It isn't just Luke I'm splitting up with, but seven years of memories, and a predictable future. Not to mention a whole crowd of shared friends. “It's not the first time, either.”
I say that last bit to remind myself. I can't afford to deviate. If Luke thinks he has the slightest chance, he'll keep pushing until he wins.
“Men stray sometimes. At least Luke loves you and looks after you. He doesn't beat you up, does he?”
This makes me laugh. “No, he's never touched me. But if that's all he's got going for him then he's not much of a catch is he? I mean there are millions of men out there who don't beat up women. I've heard some of them might even manage to keep their dicks zipped in their trousers, too.”
Sophie huffs, shaking her head. “Well, it's your problem. Don't come crying to me when you don't find anything better.”
* * *
The rest of the evening is a quiet affair. After our kitchen sink drama, Sophie barely brings herself to talk to me, concentrating on the boys and hanging on their every word. She listens as Nick complains about his boss at the Ford factory in Dagenham, and when Luke describes a sale he made today I remain silent, sipping my wine and wondering if it would be rude to say I'm tired and ready to go home.
In the end it's Luke who breaks up the evening, reaching his arms above his head in a stretch and yawning loudly. When he brings his arms back down, he reaches one across the back of my chair, the tips of his fingers brushing against my neck.
“You want to share a cab home?” he asks. “I'm going past yours anyway.”
My house is a ten-minute taxi ride from here. I calculate whether we'll be able to say everything that needs to be said in such a short time.
“Uh, yeah, sure. I'll pay half.”
He shrugs. “Whatever.”
The cab arrives and I hug Nick goodbye before pressing my lips against Sophie’s rouged cheek. She smells of Chanel and
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